Travelling With a Stranger
by iMe001
Summary: The Hound is her only hope, her biggest fear, and her deepest confusion. Sansa agrees to journey with him to the North, to her home, but her survival seems to rest on his shoulders as she struggles with her mixed perceptions of the King's Dog; killer or savior, beast or man.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

The night fell quickly over King's Landing, but the darkness did nothing to hinder the bright amber flames that framed the city. Sansa watched from a mile or so away, sitting on a dark horse, wearing an even darker cloak, lingering somewhere between admiration and horror at the destruction of her former prison city.

"Why have you stopped?" A rough voice asked her. Sansa turned and looked at the Hound, who rode back to her after noticing she was no longer with him.

"I just wanted…to watch," she responded lamely, struggling to describe the feelings of freedom and pity that swirled inside of her. "I wanted to make sure…"

"Wanted to make sure it burned down?" Sandor asked, giving a humorless chuckle and turning his horse back towards the road. "Rest assured, Little Bird, King's Landing will burn. Burn to the ground along with all the pathetic souls trapped inside." Sansa nodded wordlessly and gently spurred the horse onward, falling into tread behind Sandor.

"And Joffrey?" Sansa asked tentatively, though she did not know why. The boy king was miles away and probably charred by now while she rode away from the destruction, away from the danger. He could not harm her where she was. Still, the Hound noticed her hesitation but did not turn back to look at her.

"He will burn too." He responded after a few long moments. Sansa sighed and followed him away from the blaze, continuing down a dark path towards an unknown fate.

It wasn't that she didn't trust the Hound. He had saved her life many times and in the smallest ways, and she was thankful, but something about him was deeply unsettling. Whether it was his scarred face or gruff manor, when his eyes fell upon her, she could feel goose bumps crawl up her skin.

"How long shall we travel tonight?" she asked him.

"Until I say we stop." He responded curtly, putting an end to further conversation. Sansa stifled a yawn and tried to remain wary of her surroundings. The darkness surrounded them as the last flicker of flames from King's Landing disappeared behind them. The silence did nothing to ease Sansa's anxiety. Her mind raced with images of robbers, rapists, and thieves hiding amongst the forests. _The Hound will protect me. _She told herself_. He promised._

They traveled for what seemed like hours, covered in darkness and silence. Sansa felt her eyes drooping, and twice she slapped herself hard across the cheek to wake up. Sandor never glanced back to see if she was still behind him; he knew that she would not abandon her only chance of safe passage to the North.

"Please, Sir, please may we stop?" she begged when her exhaustion became to overwhelming to bear. Sandor stopped to look at her, biting his tongue when he wanted to snap at her weakness. He had to remind himself that he was travelling with a lady, and an especially frail one at that.

"Fine," he gave in, swiftly dropping from his horse with ease. Sansa nearly fell off her own mare; she was too tired to do it with any ounce of grace. Relieved, she opened the pack attached to the saddle and pulled out a small tin that carried the only thing about King's Landing that she enjoyed; the castle's lemoncakes. She had smuggled two small cakes from her untouched tray in her room as she packed, the Hound waiting for her in the doorway with a pack of his own. He had objected, saying the tin would do well sheltering some other form of food, but Sansa insisted. The lemoncakes from King's Landing rivaled any she had tasted before, and more importantly, they were one of the few things that kept her from cutting her own throat while imprisoned with the Lannisters.

"Take out your tarp, give it here," the Hound commanded, and Sansa pulled the large covering out of the pack with her other hand and gave it to him. "Light a fire," he told her.

"I do not know how," she responded, standing before him with her little tin. The Hound stopped and looked at her angrily before spitting to the ground.

"Seven Hells," he muttered, pushing past her into the trees at her back. "I knew I was carting a lady out of that damned city, but alas, I did not realize you were such an insufferable brat."

"It's not like I ever had an excuse to learn to do these things," she retorted. "Lighting fires, setting up camps, eating off the wild, fighting, running…Arya used to like to play and act like she was a Wilding. She would know what to do but I…I do not. I never needed to." The thought of her little sister brought tears to Sansa's eyes and she sat on the ground, suddenly angry at the stupid desserts she carried. It was Lannister sustenance and it was the Lannisters who broke apart her family; murdered her father and chased her sister away. How could she eat from the table of her jailers, those who were responsible for her misery? Disgusted, she threw the tin at the ground in front of her and buried her face in her arms, humiliated by her tears.

Rough hands pulled her arms away and hauled her to her feet, but she could not meet Sandor's eyes.

"Little Bird," he said, in a voice that was startlingly soft, as he gently dabbed at her tear-stained cheeks. "You have been strong, my Little Bird," he told her, tipping her chin up to look at him. "Now you must be stronger still."

Sansa nodded, and his hand dropped away from her all too suddenly. He turned his back on her and continued gathering sticks for the fire while Sansa elected to tie up the horses and make herself useful. Her chin seemed to burn where his hands had touched her, and Sansa felt that strange nervous feeling rise in her chest. After she tied up the horses, she picked up the tin from the ground and placed it back in her saddlebag, and pulled out two sticks of dried meat and two apples. Sandor had finished building a fire and had tied up the tarp around four trees, creating a makeshift roof over a soft bed of grass when Sansa came to him with the small dinner.

"What's that?" she asked him, eyeing the tarp.

"You sleep there," he responded, grabbing the dried meat.

"What about you?" she asked, trying to hand him the other apple. He pushed it away and grabbed the other meat stick out of her hand.

"Why does it matter?" he asked her, biting into the beef. Sansa stared at him, wondering if he was mocking her or trying to be gentlemanly. The Hound mistakenly took her confusion as mistrust and held up his hands, backing away.

"Don't you fret, Little Bird, I won't touch you. I won't even come near you." Giving her a dark half-smile, he turned away, biting into the meat again as she watched him walk to the other side of the fire, take off his cloak and lay it on the grass before following suite and finishing his meal. Sansa bit into one of the apples and placed the other back into the saddlebag before retreating to her own makeshift shelter. The Hound watched her duck under the tarp after spreading her own cloak and didn't roll away from her until she had lain down. Sansa turned to say goodnight or thank you, but he was already turned. She wrapped herself up in her cloak and looked up at the dark ceiling of the tarp, said a quick prayer for short and safe travels, before her desperate longing for sleep was answered.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Sansa awoke on the third day of their journey as sore as she had the other mornings. Her joints creaked and her neck throbbed as she sat up, her head glancing against the tarp, and she tried not to reminisce about the warm beds at home, or even at King's Landing. The Hound was already awake, packing up the remnants of their camp when she crawled out of the tarp.

"Good morning," she greeted him, rubbing her shoulder. The Hound grunted back before walking over to dismantle the tarp as Sansa stretched by her horse. "Where are we?"

"Coming up near Rosby, I suppose," he responded gruffly, untying the tarp and refolding it. Sansa had not the faintest idea of what or where Rosby was, but she didn't bother voicing it; it would only incur more mockery of her sheltered life and she was far too stiff and sore to bear it this morning. Sandor cleared the campsite and the two of them pulled themselves up onto their horses before continuing their journey.

The sun still hid behind the hills after an hour or so of travelling when Sansa spied a river.

"Praises," she sighed, relieved at the thought of a bathe. Spurring her horse, she trotted off from behind the Hound towards the river under a pale pink sky that awaited the sun's arrival.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sandor called to her.

"I need to wash," she called back, reaching the bank and hopping down.

"No, we continue on," he demanded, but Sansa had already tied up her horse and was dipping her toes in the river.

"Please, Sir," she pleaded, looking at him over her shoulder. "I won't take long, and you could take this time to gather us more food." Sandor grunted, but relented.

"Do not take long," he responded, turning his horse off the path and trotting into the forest past Sansa. "And do not call me 'Sir'."

As soon as he was gone, Sansa began stripping off her dirty cloak and underskirts. The river was almost divided into two parts, an open bank towards the road and a more seclude area back behind the trees. Sansa drifted further in, relishing the feel of the water. It was cold, and it brought goose bumps to her skin, yet it was the most delightful she had felt in days. She waded out past the trees into the sheltered waters and unlaced her remaining clothing before tossing it onto dry land and splashing water over her arms and neck. Next, she dipped her head back and wet her hair, floating on her backside and closing her eyes.

She couldn't see Sandor where he stood in the forest, but he could see her. He had ventured into the woods to hunt and gather any food he could find, but he couldn't help but stop and gaze when Sansa had stripped naked in the water. Her back was to him, but he could see how her pale skin was luminescent in the sunlight, glittering with thousands of water droplets adorning her arms. Her hair was a darker shade of auburn as it cascaded down her back, and for a moment; he was truly awe-struck at this Little Bird who had suddenly transformed into some kind of beautiful Phoenix before his eyes.

He tried to avert his stare, but then she turned and was facing him, her chest bare and her eyes unseeing of his vantage point. Sandor let out a breath and looked away…then looked back. He had never seen a more majestic beauty. Sansa had matured into a fine woman, and in the small sanctuary of the secluded river, resembled a goddess stopping to bathe amongst the mortals. It took all of his power to look away from the picturesque scene, and it pained him to turn away, but he turned his head and somehow found the concentration to focus on the task at hand. As he walked deeper into the trees, he could hear the splashing and quiet laughter of his newly transformed Phoenix behind him.

They set off again with a dead deer in tow, the prize of a successful hunt by Sandor. Sansa was disgusted by the body, but knew the venison would taste sweet in comparison to the dried meat sticks and spare fruits they had left, so she pardoned her discomfort and allowed the carcass to be strung up behind her, though the smell was horribly unpleasant. Again, the Hound rode before her without speaking, and even though the air was getting colder and the trip was silent, still she found herself in good spirits after her bath. Without noticing, she began to hum quietly as they travelled. She ignored the dark clouds that loomed over them, imagining instead that they travelled through sunshine and warmth.

It wasn't long until icy rain began to fall, and Sansa's humming ceased.

"Damn," Sandor cursed, pulling the hood up on his cloak as Sansa did the same. He swiveled around in his saddle, looking for a place to tie up the tarp for a temporary shelter, but trees were few and far between in these parts. He didn't want the venison to rot in the weather, but if he could not find shelter then continuing was their only option.

"There," Sansa rode up beside him, the first time they had been close to each other. She pointed to a small wooden shack nearby, but Sandor hesitated.

"Let's continue," he said, spurring his horse.

"No!" Sansa rode in front of him, blocking his path. "The venison will rot in minutes if we continue, and we shall catch a fever. It is obviously uninhabited," she said, and Sandor hated to admit she was right. Without a word, the two of them galloped to the shed, which was doorless and was missing a chunk of wood that looked like it had been burned off. Sansa and the Hound took out their respective tarps and covered the horses, leading them under a tree near to the shed and tying them up before dragging the deer carcass under the roof of the shed.

Panting, Sansa sat down under the intact roof, leaving just enough room for Sandor to sit down beside her.

"How long will it last?" she asked, glancing outside at the horses.

"How in Seven Hells would I know?" Sandor snapped back, irritated that they had to stop. Sansa huffed and huddled under her wet cloak, growing frustrated at his unwillingness to converse. The rain pounded against the wooden roof, icy and unforgivingly cold when it slipped through the planks and fell on any exposed skin, so Sansa hugged herself tighter beneath the warm cloak. Thunder sounded in the distance, and Sansa closed her eyes.

_The men leered over her, each of the laughing as she struggled to crawl away, her hands grasping at the hay that littered the floor._

_ "Have you ever been fucked, girl?" one of them grunts into her ear, and she cries out more desperate than ever. They begin tugging at her skirts and her dress, ripping off whatever cloth they can and pulling her dress down to bare her shoulders. Her hair has become loose and it mats on her forehead with her sweat as she wriggles under them, choking on her sobs. Their combined weight crushes her and breathing becomes difficult, her sobs turning into struggled whimpers. _

_ "Please," she gasps, "please…" But still they pull and smother her. They are tugging at her undergarments and she becomes helpless and numb, her body shaking from fear and dread at what is about to happen._

_ A small splatter of blood splashes against her cheek. She glances up and sees one of the men's entrails oozing out of his belly. The other men are looking up in terror, turning away from her. The one on her right gets his throat cut; the other is stabbed in the belly also. As they fall, a larger shape looms over her and bends down, offering her his hand._

_ "Little Bird," the dark mass whispers, leaning closer. Sansa sits up, putting out her hand. "My Little Bird," the voice says again, and Sansa frantically reaches out towards the man in front of her, the dark shadow who saved her._

_ "Please," she says, scooting forward. The mass moves towards her and a deeply scarred face appears before her eyes. Sansa gasps and falls back, the Hound landing on top of her._

_ "Afraid, girl?" he asks. Sansa shakes her head but says nothing, again crushed by the weight on top of her chest. The Hound leans in closer to her ear. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice soft but gruff. Sansa finds herself holding his arms, almost embracing him._

_ "No," she answers quietly, closing her eyes as the Hound begins to laugh a deep, throaty, and menacing laugh that shakes her to her core. "I'm not afraid," she musters up the courage to look into his eyes, and sees the darkest shade of mahogany peering back at her, startled. The laugh stops, his entire face softens yet his eyes retain their shock._

_ For a long moment, he stares at her, the dark brown hue gazing into deep pools of blue, and Sansa finds she can breathe as he shifts his weight._

_ "Little Bird," he says again, more gently than ever. He leans down to her face and she closes her eyes as their lips near contact before…_

"Wake up!" Sandor, kneeling in front of her and grasping her shoulders as she opens her eyes, shakes Sansa awake. His face is no longer soft and sweet, but hard and angry. She blinks and stares back at him as he stands. "Finally."

"I fell asleep?" she asks. "For how long?"

"Bloody hours, I don't know. The rain has stopped, we're leaving now." Sandor has already untied the horses and has led them to the shack as Sansa stands, touching her head and remembering her dream. She glances at the Hound as he lunges up onto his horse and meets his gaze when he looks at her.

"Get up, girl," he commands, and Sansa starts. She too pulls herself up onto her mare, where the deer carcass waits for her. "We best ride quickly, make up for lost time."

"Yes," she agrees quietly, watching Sandor lead the way back on the path. She shakes her head and follows, for once perfectly content with the promised silence as the two gallop away from the shed.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

"Why do you dislike conversing with me?" Sansa finally asked her companion one day. Though their time travelling had been short thus far, the Hound rarely spoke except when necessary or when he felt like responding to a question. It both suited and worried Sansa, who was still trying to determine exactly what kind of man she was on her journey with.

It was never far from her mind that the Hound had been the one to murder Arya's friend, the butcher's son Mycah, after Nymeria mauled Joffrey. Mycah had only been a boy, not much older than Arya, and Sansa wondered if it took bravery or a severe lack of humanity to kill a child. _On the Prince's orders,_ she reminded herself. Yet still, he had told her once that he took joy in killing, and that one day her sons would be killers, just like him.

And yet, there was some kind of savage gentleness to him that she could neither truly identify nor outright deny. He had saved her life, multiple times even, when he could have let her die. He watched out for her, especially when it came to Joffrey's careless treatment of her. The Hound never beat her. He loaned her his cloak when she was humiliated before the court by Ser Meryn. He offered to take her home and keep her safe along the way. All that bravery and heroism must account for something, but what exactly it meant, she did not know.

"You are strange, Ser, both brutish and quiet at once," she commented quietly when he still refused to answer, riding behind him and watching his body language for some kind of reaction. He remained still, and Sansa huffed quietly to herself. "Honestly, you could say something, Ser, we've had so many encounters that you must find me at least somewhat familiar?"

"No, girl," he finally replied, harsh, turning his horse so quickly that it's head brushed against Sansa's mare. "What am I?" he asked her fiercely. Sansa, taken by surpise at his sudden gruffness, leaned away in her saddle, but he only drew closer on his horse. "I asked you, what am I?" he repeated, grounding out the words. Sansa struggled to form an answer, and the Hound reached out a hand and grasped her chin tightly. "I am a dog, I am the Hound. Do not assume we are familiar because I intervened on your certain death more than once."

"But, Ser—"

"I am no 'Ser', foolish girl, I have no honor. I have killed, women and children, I have fought to the death. I have plundered and I have destroyed, all while you sit at your pretty vanity, admiring your hair or gossiping about knights. Do not confuse me with some gallant hero, for I will be forced to prove you wrong." His grip on her jaw was painful and Sansa could feel her teeth ache behind her cheeks.

"Please, you're hurting me," she whimpered, trying to pull away from him, but his grasp was firm and he moved his horse with her.

"What's all this?" a gentle voice entered Sansa's ears, and she felt the Hound's grip soften slightly. She turned her head and saw a middle-aged woman walking out from a nearby farm. "Any trouble going on here?" she asked, eyeing Sandor suspiciously. Sansa wanted to ask for shelter or safety from the beastly man, but thought it best now to keep her mouth shut. Tenderly, she rubbed her cheek while the Hound approached the woman.

"Nothing that involves you, woman." He responded gruffly, but the woman peered around him at Sansa.

"This your wife? Or Daughter?" she asked, moving around him without a care to his objections. "She looks miserable, poor girl, and hungry," the woman came closer, speaking only to Sansa. "Would you like a hot meal, love? And a place to sleep? I got no children and me husband is dead, you're more than welcome to settle here for the night, if you wish," she said kindly, smiling at Sansa and patting her horse's neck.

"Thank you, Madam," Sansa responded, almost shyly.

"We are not stopping," the Hound interjected aggressively, but while Sansa shrank away from his anger, the old woman seemed more inspired in her offer by it.

"Well, feel free to continue on, Ser, but I'll see to it that your lady here receives proper treatment. Down you go, love, let's get you inside," she chided happily as Sansa slipped off the horse.

"Girl!" Sandor yelled, trotting towards her and the woman.

"Oh hush! Now, come inside dear…Gods! You're just skin and bones, love! Inside, inside, I've got a fresh plate of stew that's waiting on the table, are you coming too or what?" she called behind her to Sandor, who growled but hopped off his horse and led both mares to a tree and tied them up before following the women inside.

"M'name's Elma," she told them as he entered the small country farmhouse, shutting the door behind him. "You're most welcome to stay the night. It get's lonely 'round here without any small ones, and me husband died years ago. That's right, love, eat up and take your fill. You too, Ser, though you don't look as needy for it as this one," she said, handing Sandor a plate of steaming stew. He contemplated ignoring it out of mere frustration, but decided that denying a hot meal would be quite the stupid decision. Sansa had already gulped down almost half her bowl by the time he took his first bite.

"Thank you, Madam, for your hospitality," Sansa said to Elma, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. The woman smiled and nodded, patting Sansa's back.

"My pleasure, dear, really. Where are you headed?"

"North," the Hound replied shortly, wanting to give away as little information about their journey as possible, and he could see Sansa opening her mouth. Gods only knew how much chatter she'd make, and he didn't want to take the risk.

"Aye, anywhere particular?" Elma pressed as she poured another bowl of stew for Sansa.

"No," Sandor responded shortly. Elma took the hint and dropped the subject.

"Well, if you don't mind, I think I'll get me some sleep. Through the hallway there you'll find a room. The bed's a bit stiff but I'll bet it's better than the ground."

"Thank you, Madam," Sansa replied eagerly, smiling at the woman. Elma smiled back. Sandor grunted.

"No need to thank me, love. And please, call me Elma," she responded, grasping the girl's shoulders before taking her leave from the table. Sandor finished his bowl of stew as Sansa started on her third, and he scoffed.

"Hungry?" he mocked her, but Sansa barely noticed. "We shouldn't linger here," he said. Sansa looked at him and shook her head.

"We should stay," she retaliated.

"No," Sandor repeated, gruffly.

"Yes."

"We're leaving."

"I'm staying." Her eyes were defiant as she glared at him, holding her ground. Sandor appraised her, eyes skimming over her face and admiring the ferocity behind it. She did not look like the old porcelain little bird he thought she was.

"Fine," he relented finally, giving her her way. "You've grown," he commented. Sansa looked at him, confused now.

"What do you mean?" she asked him. He didn't answer right away, but continued to look at her. Sansa looked away, embarrassed by his hard gaze. As he watched, she looked down at her chest and crossed her arms over it. Sandor laughed, realizing what she thought he meant.

"No, Little Bird, I'm not talking about your figure," he told her, still laughing. Sansa's cheeks burned scarlet, but that only seemed to amuse him further. "Don't you fret though, girl, you've got plenty of assets to boast about. You won't have trouble finding someone willing to fuck you," he told her, leaning back in his chair almost smugly. Defiance lit up her ice blue eyes again and she pursed her lips as she stood.

"Goodnight, Dog," she spat, before turning her back and walking down the hall. Moments later, Sandor heard the door to the room slam, and he chuckled to himself. _Little Bird has claws._

Sansa woke the next morning and half expected the Hound to have left without her. Yet when she entered the kitchen, there he was, sitting at the table as though he had never left his chair. She didn't bother to say good morning today, her irritation with him was still ripe from his vulgarity the night before. He didn't bother to glance at her either, so the two sat in silence for a few minutes until Elma joined them.

"Good morning to you both," she chirped, placing a bowl of eggs in front of the two of them. "Eat up before you're on your way."

"Thank you, Elma. You have been most gracious," Sansa gushed, and Sandor contributed his normal grunt. Elma smiled at him regardless.

"You're most welcome, dear," she replied, sitting down across from Sandor. "Never did get your named, though."

"My name is Sansa," the young girl replied, smiling. Elma nodded and seemed to turn away in thought. Sansa resumed eating her eggs until Elma looked back at her with wide eyes and an open mouth.

"Sansa…the Stark girl…" she said slowly. Sandor's hand went to his sword quietly under the table. "The King's future wife?" Elma asked, looked terrified. Sansa looked from the Hound to their host and nodded slowly.

"Get out, get out now!" Elma suddenly shrieked, knocking the bowls off the table and rushing to the other side of the room as though Sansa and Sandor were afflicted with some gruesome disease.

"Madam?" Sansa asked quizzically.

"There's a price on your head, girl," Elma pointed a shaking finger at her. "And a severe punishment for anyone who aids you. Now get out, or I'll kill you myself," she threatened, pulling a knife out of her apron. Sansa backed away, into the Hound who had stood up from the table when Elma had fled to the other side of the kitchen. He yanked Sansa behind him and unsheathed his sword.

"Do not threaten me, woman," he cautioned her darkly. Elma raised her knife but gestured to the door, smart enough to know she was no match for this beast of a man.

"Get out of my house, now!" she commanded, waving the knife. Sandor turned and nodded to Sansa, who ran out the door quickly. Once outside, she turned and waited for him. Inside, she heard the scuffle of chairs followed by Elma's frantic voice:

"No, no, please, I won't tell anybody. I won't say a—". There was a soft slicing sound, and then a thud on the floor. Sandor emerged from the farmhouse not much longer, sheathing his blade. Sansa looked at him, horrified.

"You killed her!"

"I did."

"Why? How could you?" Sansa burst into tears and she ran at him, shoving and banging against his breastplate. "You are a horrible, hateful man!" she cried, beating his armor as hard as she could. Sandor seized her hands and lowered his face to look into her eyes.

"Yes, Little Bird, I am horrible and hateful. I kill easily and without hesitating, but I do it for us, for our lives. Joffrey's scouts will be swarming this country soon, and we can't have a tattle tale left in our tracks." He felt like he was scolding a child, but she had to learn that their safety was his number one priority, and he was not about to risk their lives for the life of a common country-woman.

"I hate you," Sansa replied, crossing her arms and pulling away from him.

"Hate me all you want, Little Bird," he said back to her, going to the horses and untying them from their tree. "But I have saved your life."

The two of them mounted their horses and Sandor took the lead, riding North without so much as a look back to the farmhouse. Sansa lingered, gazing at the window and wishing she had never stopped in the first place.

"I'm sorry, Elma," she whispered. Wiping her last tear from her cheek, she turned and slowly began to follow the Hound.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Joffrey Lannister sat on his horse, overlooking the village of Antlers, and sneered. He had barely survived the attack on King's Landing, and had the scars to prove it panited across his entire body. His mother sat beside him on her own horse, half of her head wrapped in a bandage. Myrcella and Tommen had escaped without bruises, Tyrion had fled, but beyond the royal family and half of the Kingsguard, almost the entire city had burned.

"What is it, sweetling?" Cersei asked him, seeing the displeased look on his face.

"Do not call me that," he snapped at her. "I am a king!"

"Of course, Your Grace," she replied instantly, not wishing to upset him further. She bowed her head and moved her horse back, allowing Ser Meryn to trot forward in her place.

"Your Grace, shall my men move in and question the villagers?" he asked. Joffrey nodded, but when Meryn turned to go, he held up his hand.

"Do not be afraid to use force, Ser Meryn," he reminded him casually. Cersei raised her eyes and looked, concerned, at her son. "I want the dog and that bitch alive, and I'm sure someone here has seen them." Meryn nodded and bowed on his saddle.

"Yes, Your Grace," he replied, before trotting away and going to his remaining men to set up a raid. Cersei continued to regard her son as he took a few steps closer to the village.

"I'll find you, Stark whore," he muttered darkly, just loud enough that Cersei heard him. She sighed and turned away, leaving him to brood on his own and return to her other children.

XXX

They had finally made it to Harrenhal. Sansa was both relieved and terrified, for so many stories arose out of the forsaken castle about ghosts and myseterious disappearances and deaths, yet at the same time, it was the closest thing to shelter they had.

The Lannister guard here had deserted, no doubt to flee after the uprising at King's Landing. Abandoned Lion banners lay buried in the mud at Sansa's feet as she dismounted her horse.

"Easy, Marya," she whispered to the mare, stroking it's neck. She had decided to re-name her horse after her little sister, in hopes that someday she would see her again back in Winterfell. The horse reminded her of Arya; strong, independent, sometimes disobedient to Sansa's commands, but it just made her love the horse even more. "It's alright, girl," she soothed, and Marya calmed.

"We'll set up here for the night," Sandor decided, riding up next to her and dismounting.

"Is it safe?" Sansa asked, walking beside him and pulling Marya along. The Hound glanced back at her, and then looked at the crumbling ruins of the castle. He didn't answer.

The two of them climbed the hill up to the front of the castle, where there was a small foyer behind the double doors that was mostly intact. With a roof over their heads, there was no need for a tarp, so instead Sandor laid it down on the cold stone ground and motioned for Sansa.

"You can sleep with this," he told her briskly. She nodded and moved to the tarp, spreading her cloak out and laying down. Sandor followed suite on his own cloak and turned his back to her.

It seemed like she lay there for hours, listening to the soft hollowing of the wind as it echoed through the ruined castle. It didn't frighten her as much as she thought it would, and it was almost peaceful in an eerie way. Still, she could not sleep, so she tossed and turned and found herself facing towards the Hound.

By the dim light of what was left of their torch, she could see him lying on his back, his eyes closed. He had taken off his breastplate and back shield, but left on his armor across his arms and legs, so she could see the even rise and fall of his chest as he slept. She could also see the unscarred side of his face, and she found herself noting that from this side, she could see that he could have been rather handsome. _Much more handsome that his brother_, she thought to herself, remembering how brutal Gregor had been at King Robert's tournaments. If it weren't for that hideous scar on the other side of his face, he might have looked almost dashing.

Just as quickly as the thought entered her mind, she forgot it, remembering instead how he had talked to her at Elma's. _You won't have trouble finding someone willing to fuck you_, he had said, and she found it repulsive. In his own brutish way, the Hound had meant it as a compliment towards her growing beauty, but all Sanda could accredit him for was the gruff and vulgar way of paying it to her. Conflicted, she finally forced her eyes shut, preferring sleep over these kinds of confusing thoughts.

After awhile, Sansa finally drifted off into a light sleep. She dreamt of nothing, and it was almost like she could still hear the wind even as she slept. Her rest did not last long, however, and she found herself awoken sometime again in the middle of the night by the sound of footsteps and distant chatter.

The men had come like ghosts, out of nowhere. Sansa could hear them approaching from down the hill as they talked, and she hurriedly crawled over to the Hound and shook him awake.

"Please, Ser, wake up!" she whispered urgently. The Hound snorted and rolled away from her. Desperately, Sansa shook him again, hearing the voices nearing fast. Running out of options, she drew back her fist and whacked the Hound as hard as she could on the cheek, covering his mouth with her other hand before he could cry out. The Hound's eyes popped open and on instinct at having his mouth covered, bit down on Sansa's hand. She curled in her lip and yanked her fingers away, screaming internally.

"What do you think you're doing, girl?" he demanded, but Sansa quickly shushed him and pointed out the foyer. Sandor quieted and listened for a moment, and heard the voices approaching.

"Up," he commanded quietly, pulling Sansa to her feet and leading her deeper into the foyer.

"The horses!" she whispered back, turning to retrieve Marya, but Sandor grabbed her hand and hauled her back.

"Too late, Little Bird," he told her, and Sansa's eyes filled with hot tears and she felt stupid for it. Marya was only a horse, but she had been her only reminder of Arya, of her family, and of her home. She painfully relented and allowed the Hound to drag her along behind him through the foyer and through a great hall, then through a small wooden door into a dark, cellar-like room, lit only by streams of moonlight through the few windows.

"Stay here," Sandor told her, unsheathing his sword.

"What? Where are you going?" Sansa asked, but the Hound had already shut her in. All she could do was wait in the dark.

She eventually sat on the ground, nervously glancing around her. She kept imagining a face lurking in the shadows of the room, or a soft, raspy voice whispering something nearby, but still she waited.

Voices came to the door, and she quietly backed into a corner, praying they wouldn't bother entering. The Gods denied her.

The door swung open with a bang, and a tall, fat man strode into the room and sniffed. He was followed by another man, shorter and leaner, with long, scraggly blonde hair tied in a messy collection at the nape of his neck. Sansa pressed herself against the wall away from the windows and closed her eyes, hoping to be unseen.

"Well now, wha' 'ave we got 'ere?" the first man croaked in a high-pitched voice, and Sansa's eyes flew open to find his face inches from her own. "We've found ourselves a 'ore!" he said excitedly, turning to his companion, who sniggered.

"Quite the beauty, eh?" the second man responded, and the first nodded.

"Where 'ave you come from, 'ore?" he asked her, leaning in close. Sansa could smell his rancid breath and she turned her face away. He didn't like that, and he grabbed her chin much like Sandor had earlier on their travels when he scolded her before they met Elma. "I as'd you a question, wench," he growled.

"F-From Rosby," Sansa lied, reciting the first town name she could think of. The first man looked confused.

"Where's 'at?" he asked stupidly. Sansa did not answer, for she did not know.

"Come on, Fonny, let's take her wiff us!" the second man said. "We can play with her back at 'ome!"

"You stupid, she's prob'ly 'ere with that brute we came across!" the one called Fonny answered. Sansa caught her breath; the Hound was alive!

"I knocked 'him out well enough, he di'nt even see me comin' wiff my club!" the second man answered, swinging the unseen weapon up into the moonlight. Sansa gulped as she saw the blunt wood; perhaps the Hound was not alive. Still, she had to do something, make herself known in case the Hound was awake.

Without hesitating, Sansa opened her mouth and let out a bloodcurdling scream that bounced off almost every wall of the castle. Fonny yelped and his partner scrambled to shut the door. Sansa screamed and screamed, fighting against Fonny's arms as he attempted to constrict her. Finally, the second man ran towards her. The last thing she saw was his club flying towards her eyes, followed by darkness and nothing.

XXX

Sandor awoke from unconsciousness when he heard Sansa screaming. He twisted around and groaned at the ache in his head, grasping at his face. That damn fool had come around the corner so quickly, swinging his club like a blind man and striking Sandor across the head. He did not know how long he had been unconscious, but Sansa's screaming had stopped and he knew that meant danger.

Quickly, he got up and grabbed his sword off the ground, and began sprinting towards where he had left the girl, though it was hard to navigate the ruined castle in the dark and with a seething headache.

Eventually, he did find the room where he had left Sansa, and was not surprised to see the door had been opened. He didn't bother stepping inside; he knew those fools had taken her. Without another option, he ran back to the foyer and looked out over the hill. As he expected, the horses were missing as well. Sandor swore and spat into the grass, sheathing his sword and running a hand over his face. That damned girl had slipped through his fingers. He swore again, louder, and began looking around the grounds for signs of a village. The two men must have taken her somewhere, he thought, and eventually his eyes spied a dimly lit collection of buildings closer to the Kingsroad. He began his trek towards it, all the while fuming.

Sandor's fury raged softly but surely inside of him, anger flaring at everyone; the men for stealing his horse and the girl; Sansa for ever coming with him on his escape; and most of all himself for allowing her to get stolen away from him. He had promised to keep her safe, and he had failed.

XXX

When Sansa awoke, she couldn't tell if it was night or day. She was tied up, her arms outstretched, against two wooden pillars within a musty barn, the only light coming from small cracks in the walls that could belong to the moon or the sun. She sat on stiff and sharp hay, and nearby she could hear several hogs snorting. She blinked wearily, coming to slowly. It was dark where she was, and her head felt like it was going to explode. She blinked again, trying to clear the dizziness, but it was no use; everything in her eyesight seemed to sway slightly, and would not stay still. Sansa gave up and let her head hang, instead focusing on the pain in her arms from being stretched so tightly. In reality, every muscle in her body ached, but her arms seemed the most prevalent.

Eventually, she lifted her head again and tried to focus on her surroundings, but all she could see in front of her was more hay, stretching out across the ground before her. Past that, only shadows. Sansa could not even bring herself to cry, she was so tired and weak. She lamely pulled at her bindings and only made her arms hurt worse before finally giving up.

A door creaked open and sunlight beamed through it. Sansa leaned forward as much as she could to see outside, but it was too bright to make out any features, and harder still when two figures entered.

"Damn, Fonny, you weren't lyin'…she is a beauty," a man said in a gruff and low voice.

"Told you, Kigpin, where's my payment?" Fonny replied. She remembered that name, Fonny. It made her afraid.

"Do not hurry me, there is still another part of your bargain. You promised me a virgin," the one called Kigpin answered, and Sansa's stomach turned as dread overtook her heart. "We'll confirm that part later, eh? After we dine," Kigpin responded, and Sansa could see that he was talking both to her and to Fonny as he clapped the other figure on the back before the two retreated.

Terrified, Sansa began yanking at the ropes binding her arms, desperate to get free. She whimpered as each yank felt like a tear in her muscle, but she did not stop, realizing that she would rather tear her own arms off instead of endure what these men had planned for her.

"Please," she whispered to no one in particular. "Please, no."


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Sansa did not know how long she waited in the farmhouse until the men returned; all she knew was that there were more of them when the door opened. She blinked as they came in with their torches and hung them on the walls, watching as they surrounded her. One of them let out a low whistle and murmured something to the man beside him.

"Please, Sers," Sansa choked out. "Please let me go, I will not tell anyone," she pled. The men all chuckled. One of them cracked their knuckles ominously. Sansa began to panic, looking around for some means of escape, but she saw none. She looked back up at her captors, counting five of them; Fonny, Kigpin, and Fonny's companion, along with two other gruff looking men. All were large and dirty, a few with fat bellies and others balding. All of them stank something rancid and it made Sansa's stomach churn when she inhaled their rank.

"She's like a porcelain doll," one of them noted.

"Aye, untouched," another said. Sansa whirled from each man to the next as they spoke with wide frantic eyes. Fonny's companion from the castle approached her as he rolled up his sleeves. She moved away from him as much as her bindings would allow, but he easily yanked her by her chin and stared into her face. She could see he had several missing teeth and a scraggly beard, with harsh boils framing his face and a black eye that seemed to analyze her. Sansa wriggled ferociously, trying to free herself from his grip. The man didn't like that, and he slapped her hard across the face.

"She's a bit rowdy," he complained, looking back at Kigpin.

"Can't control a little 'ore?" Kigpin mocked, and the man turned red.

"Tha's not what I meant," he responded through gritted teeth. "Be a bit easier if she weren't so…" he took a moment to sneer at Sansa. "…wriggly."

"Well, make her compliant, then," Kigpin replied, almost in a bored tone. One of the other men sniggered, and Sansa panicked more as Fonny stepped forward and rolled up his own sleeves.

"Please," she begged again, looking from Fonny to the other man and back. "Please, no, please!"

His fist came barreling into her face out of nowhere, and for a moment, she was too stunned to feel any pain. Her head lolled back and she gazed at the high beams of the ceiling, her mouth agape. Slowly, the pain eased its way into her nerves, and Sansa's face crumpled in agony. She pulled her head back and spat out a glob of blood and cried out, as her cheek seemed to light itself on fire, burning through the last ounces of courage she possessed. When her cries subsided, she could hear Fonny laughing.

"Like that, 'ore?" he asked her, leaning close to her face.

"I'm not a whore," Sansa replied weakly, begging for mercy. "Please, Ser!"

"Shut it, girl!" Fonny yelled and struck her again, on the other cheek. Sansa's entire face was blazing with pain, and she could feel hot tears streaming down her cheeks where they began mingling with blood.

"Move on, Fonny, let us 'ave a go!" Fonny's companion said excitedly.

"Oh, ye can 'andle her now, is it?" Fonny teased, clapping the man on his back. His companion shook him off and strutted over to Sansa, who spat out more blood and tried to look him in the eye. She couldn't. She was so dizzy.

"'Ere, help me! Stand her up!" Fonny's companion said, gesturing for others to move forward. Two men stepped forward and hauled Sansa from under her armpits to her feet, and she wavered as they held her up.

"Come on, Lage, 'urry up!" one of them said. The one called Lage, Fonny's companion, licked his lips and drove both his arms into Sansa's stomach in a swinging motion. Sansa felt the breath disappear from her lungs and she doubled over, wheezing. Lage took the opportunity to beat down on her back, and she dropped to the hay once again, coughing up blood and vomit while the men around her laughed.

"Alright, lads, I say she's good and ready now," Kigpin declared, stepping forward. The other men moved away except Fonny, who moved to the other man and held out his hand.

"And my payment?" he drawled expectedly. Kigpin nodded but held up both hands.

"After, Fonny," he told the man, looking at Sansa. "Still need to make sure she's pure." Sansa could barely focus on his words, much less his face. Everything in front of her was blurry, and red dots swam before her eyes as she tried to form words or focus on something. She could hear the rustling of fabric as Kigpin undid his belt and lowered himself in front of her. Wearily, she shuffled herself away from him, but she was slow and clumsy and he caught her by the ankle, pulling her closer to him easily.

"P-please…no…" she breathed, barely conscious but just lucid enough to be terrified. Kigpin chuckled darkly and reached out a hand to stroke her cheek, then shoved her onto her back.

"I'm gonna enjoy this, 'ore," he whispered in her ear as he leaned close to her face. Sansa murmured some unintelligible plea, but all it did was make Kigpin and the others laugh harder. Kigpin took out a knife and Sansa's eyes widened, but he only used it to cut through the front of her dress and expose her belly. Sansa closed her eyes and felt Kigpin's musty lips press against her own, hard and unyielding, and she found she could not remember any prayers to recite in her head. She saw Kigpin undo his pant lace, and at last, she was granted the sweet escape from reality as darkness overtook her, and she was gone.

XXX

"Don't look, Little Bird," the voice said, rough but quiet. She opened her eyes anyway, and was greeted by a mystical sight. Sansa was floating somewhere in the midst of blurred colors and sounds, nothing clear enough to identify. She felt as though she was lost in a painting as hues swirled around her. Soft wails echoed nearby but when she turned her head to find their source, she would get lost in more colors.

"Close your eyes," the voice said again, but Sansa didn't want to. It was so beautiful here in this painting. _Perhaps they are painting me, the voices,_ she thought to herself, and it brought a smile to her face that she would be painted like some great lady. Only queens had paintings of themselves. _I hope it is beautiful. I shall hang it in my chamber at Winterfell, and even Arya shall be jealous._

"Little Bird," that voice said again, sounding more urgent which made Sansa frustrated. Can't they leave her alone? She was being painted and she should not be disturbed. "Little Bird, open your eyes, it's all right," they said, and Sansa slowly swatted her hand to make them quiet.

"No," she murmured.

"Sansa." And she recognized the voice. Slowly, a burnt yet handsome face materialized before her eyes. Low moans still emanated around her but all she could do was look into that face, into those deep mahogany eyes, and stare.

As the Hound's face came into focus, so did Sansa's pain. She was forced to squeeze her eyes shut as she cried out, hands grasping for her stomach and her face at the same time. The pain was unbearable and Sandor's face slipped from her focus and back into the blur of colors, and Sansa panicked as she tried to recapture those eyes.

The colors were fading. Darkness moved in. Sansa cried out, louder, waiting for some solace, but all that was left from the darkness was a deep voice.

"Little Bird…Little Bird…Little Bird…"

XXX

Sandor had found them easily, thanks to his horse. He had personally installed a uniquely designed horseshoe on his mare that was easy to track, so all he really had to do was follow them back to the small village from whence they came. Sandor nearly sprinted the whole way there, knowing the Stark girl had very little time if he did not hurry.

He found the horses tied up outside the farmhouse on the edge of the town, Sansa's horse, Maru or Maryo or whatever she had named it, neighed when it saw him, but he shushed it quickly and patted it's neck to calm the mare.

Inside, he could hear bawdy laughter, followed by several thuds. He squinted through a crack in the wood panels of the wall, quietly unsheathing his sword, and counted two men inside…no, five, as his eye found two others holding up Sansa and one delivering a blow to her back.

Sansa raised her head and he sucked in a breath at the sight; her face was bloody and bruised, swelling almost twice it's normal size and emphasizing her black eye. Her hair looked scraggly and undone as it fell in front of her face. One of the men moved forward and gestured for the other two to move away. Sandor moved closer, to a different panel, and peered inside again as the man cut open Sansa's dress, revealing her pale flesh. Sandor closed her eyes, the image of her bathing in the river flashing before him, but he shook the thought away and without delay, charged through the door.

Sansa had fallen unconscious as Sandor drove his sword through the throat of the man straddling her before he could untie his pants. The four other men sprung into action; one ran out the farmhouse door, and another grabbed a torch off the wall. The last picked up a club, and Sandor recognized him as the one who had knocked him out at Harrenhal. He smiled and pointed at the man with the tip of his sword.

"You're next," he told him, raising his eyebrows. The man backed away nervously and swung blindly with his club, missing Sandor completely. Sandor whirled around and swung his sword with ease, cutting into the gut of the man. He dropped his club with a thud, blood slowly beginning to ease out of his mouth, his eyes wide. Sandor withdrew his sword and the man fell at his feet.

A blunt, burning object suddenly struck Sandor in the right side of his face, and he reeled back, memories of the hot coals and Gregor's cruel laugh lunging into his mind. Sandor fell back and shook his head, patting the side of the face where he felt the burn. It seemed localized to his jaw, yet the pain seared through his entire body.

"Now look 'ere," the man who had hit him said, holding up his other hand. "I'm willin' to negotiate for the 'ore. Whats say you, eh? No need to spill more blood," the man shrugged and tried to smile, but he was backing away as Sandor got to his feet. "Come on, Ser, please, we di't know she was spoken for, p'omise! We wouldn't 'ave touched her if we knew! Please!" He had backed into a beam and Sandor advanced, knocking the torch to the hay-strewn ground. His blade slid easily into the man's belly as Sandor leaned in, sneering.

"Shouldn't have touched her in the first place," he growled, and stared into the man's eyes to watch him die.

A soft murmur grabbed his attention, and he turned to see Sansa trying to sit up. Blood soaked the ground, and the hay near the torch had already caught fire as Sandor hurried over to her and leaned down, gingerly picking her up and cradling her in his arms.

"Don't look, Little Bird," he told her gently, not wanting her to see the bodies torn open or the fire. He didn't want her to panic. Sansa seemed delirious; she was smiling and reaching her hands out to the air, her eyes open but unfocused as she seemed to admire the farmhouse.

"Close your eyes," he said again, worried she would focus and become afraid. She began to hum and her smile grew, and Sandor made his way to the door, as the flames grew larger behind him.

"Little Bird?" he asked, concerned now that she had gone soft in the head from the beating. She swatted at the air, her face becoming confused.

"No," she murmured, as Sandor carried her through the door as the fire spread across the ground, enveloping the bodies littered on the floor. He untied the horses with his one free hand, keeping Sansa cradled with the other, and led them far enough away from the burning farmhouse to safety. Sansa tossed slightly in his arms, and his worry turned to fear.

"Sansa!" he said urgently, desperate to see her comprehend him. He thought he saw her eyes focus on his face finally, as the building behind him moaned and collapsed to the ground from the burning interior, extinguishing all but a few remaining flames outside. Sansa looked into his eyes for several moments, squinting slightly, and he knew she could see him. But as soon as her eyes had focused, they shut again, and she winced, crying out and grabbing at her stomach and face, flailing in his arms. Sandor held her tight against his chest, swaddling her and restricting her movement, shushing her and calling her, Little Bird, softly, over and over again until she was finally unconscious once more.

_A/N: Hi all! Thank you so much for reading this far, I hope I've kept you entertained enough. To those of you who have reviewed, thank you thank you thank you! I so appreciate you taking the time to let me know what you think of this story. And to my followers, I love you all. I'm so mushy but so serious, it's such an honor when I see that people actually care about this (people besides me). Just wanted to say thanks to all of you, feel free to review if you like! You all ROCK. :)_


	6. Chapter 6

Sansa dipped the cloth into the lake and rung it out hard before returning to the Hound, who sat close by on the grass. Her stomach ached with every step, but she did her best to ignore the pain. It had been two days since her attack, and while most of the pain in her face had subsided, her stomach seemed more suborn to give her trouble.

Sandor held out his hand for the cloth, but Sansa shooed it away and kneeled by his face. For once, the Hound was too tired to resist. He had not slept the past couple nights, for the burn along his jaw was still ripe and stinging, keeping him from getting any kind of rest. Sansa could see it in his face; dark purple shadows hung below his weary eyes, the fiery brown and iron grey irises glazing over without slumber to refresh their vibrant hues. His shoulders were hunched, and when they had ridden back to Harrenhal, he sat in the foyer for the whole day, both of them resting from their injuries, when normally he would have taken up hunting or exploring the ruins.

Now, Sansa had healed, mostly, and took it upon herself to do something useful for a change. She found herself growing tired of being helpless.

"Damn it, girl!" he snapped at her when she gently touched the cold fabric to his cheek. He swatted her hand away and she narrowly avoided getting smacked in the face again.

"It would be better if you stayed still," she replied coldly, then, softening, added: "I'm sorry."

Sandor grunted but let her continue to clean his burn. It stung like Seven Hells but he tried not to fidget.

"It has mostly blistered," Sansa told him, taking the cloth away and returning to the lake to rinse it. Sandor grunted again; he didn't much care what it was doing, as long as it went away. He watched Sansa lean down and rinse the cloth, and wondered if she would bathe in the lake like she did in the river, then inwardly growled at himself for thinking of it. Sansa returned with the cloth wet again and returned to her work.

"Damn it!" he yelled when she pushed too hard, making his jaw feel like it was being stabbed. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her towards him. "That's enough, girl," he spat. Sansa pursed her lips and pulled back, trying to free her wrist.

"I'm just trying to help," she responded, gritting her teeth.

"I don't need it," he said back, but she was cleverer than he thought. With her free hand, Sansa blatantly stuck out her middle finger and pushed it against the new burn, and Sandor howled, dropping her wrist and leaping backward. When the blazing had subsided, she sat waiting for him with the cloth at the ready, and the Hound grumpily sat back down as she finished her work.

"Just stay still," she said gently, pulling the cloth away. She then took off her cloak and ripped a few bands of the fabric, wetting the ends, and wrapped it around the burn and his chin to keep it positioned. She finished laying the last band, pressing gently with her fingers across his covered jawline to his chin…then oddly, past it. Her fingers brushed over another old scar near his mouth, travelled up past his large, crooked nose, and stopped just where his skin became bumpy and smooth, like rough candle wax, full of red sores and torn skin that never truly healed.

"What, Little Bird, find my disfigurement fascinating? Going to write a song about it, sing it to your husband and your little pups someday?" he asked her bitterly, refusing to meet her gaze. Whether it was from shame or hatred, she did not know, but she got the message and dropped her hands.

"I was only curious," she replied reservedly, not wishing to upset him further. "Forgive me, I did not know you disliked my touch."

The Hound looked at her, surprised at her bold answer. He had only mocked his own misery, not her treatment. Normally, she would have reacted like a scared child, trembling and bumbling over an apology, and no doubt calling him 'Ser' because she thought it was polite. He didn't know how to respond to this change, but Sansa didn't notice. She went back to the lake and rinsed the cloth again, grimacing as she bent towards the small, dark waves lapping at her toes. She rose, rung out the cloth, then turned and tossed it to him.

"You can soothe yourself, if it pleases you," she said flatly. Sandor caught the cloth and watched as she began the walk back up the castle. He turned his eyes to the cloth as he curled his fist around it, before tucking it away under his breastplate. He followed behind Sansa for the first time on their travels, watching her as she struggled up the rocky hill, one hand at her stomach and the other helping her tread. She wavered more than once, and had to stop to keel over and take a few deep breaths. Sandor almost went to help her, but thought better of it for now.

They reached the castle as rain began to pour, as if waiting for them to find shelter first. Sansa walked back to the main hall where Sandor had set up a small camp with blankets and furs he found abandoned in the castle and sat down. He followed her in and sat in a chair across from her place on the ground and began unlacing his boots.

"Will we be leaving in the morning?" Sansa asked quietly. The Hound shook his head.

"No, we'll rest here while we can. You can barely walk up a hill—"

"I can to!"

"—And I don't think we'll have any more visitors," he finished, ignoring her. He leaned back in the chair, now only clad in his undershirt and pants; he had taken off his armor after they had reached Harrenhal once again. Sansa pursed her lips and sat, frowning at the silence. "It's getting late," Sandor said, standing. "Best go to sleep."

"Will you?" She asked, and again, he shook his head.

"I'll keep guard tonight," he responded, stretching. "Sleep, Little Bird, I want you to heal quickly so we don't have to linger here." Sansa nodded and rolled over on her fur, her back to Sandor. They had lit the great fireplace near where they lay and Sansa could feel the welcome warmth at her back, as she lay awake. She did not feel tired yet, and she could hear the Hound's soft but rugged breathing behind her.

"Why did you ask me to come with you?" she asked eventually, without rolling over. She could not see his face, and for a long time, he did not answer.

"I didn't, I asked if you wanted to go home," he replied gruffly. Sansa huffed and turned towards him.

"Why?" she asked. He looked at her but turned his head away, meaning not to speak again. Sansa did not move, and fixed her gaze upon him, even though he would not meet her eye. "You've been so…kind…to me," she ventured, saying it slowly. The Hound did nothing but stare into the fire, his face expressionless. Sansa waited to see if he would say anything, and when he didn't, she continued.

"You've protected me from Joffrey. You saved me from those men after the riot. I know you weren't ordered to, Shae told me. You did it on your own. I don't know why you did, but I still think about it sometimes." She stopped, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. "You never beat me when Joffrey tells you to."

Still, the Hound said nothing. He looked down into his lap, then back at the fire. Sansa, stupidly, wanted to cry. She was so tired of constantly being ignored.

"Why won't you say anything?" she asked softly, trying to keep the tears from sounding in her voice. It didn't work; Sandor glanced at her and saw them shining in her eyes. He sighed and stood from the chair, running a hand over his face and pacing a few steps. He walked for a while before stopping, facing the fire with his back to her.

"I wouldn't beat you," he said. It wasn't an answer, but it was enough. She couldn't see him open his mouth, wanting to continue but not knowing what to say.

"Thank you," Sansa replied quietly.

"For what?" he growled, and Sansa was taken aback. It seemed everytime she tried to thank him for helping her or saving her, he became angry or ill tempered, and proceeded to yell at her or mock her. She didn't understand why he couldn't accept her thanks out of courtesy, even if he didn't want them.

"If I displease you so, why did you offer to take me?" she demanded, sitting up. "You've made it obvious that you despise me, so why did you bother? You would be half way to the North by now without me!" Empowered, Sansa stood up and walked next to him before the fire. "Why didn't you just leave me there?"

"Because I want to protect you!" He burst at her, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. "You stupid girl! You blind, naïve Little Bird," he leaned close to her face and leered at her. "I may have been the King's dog but I was not his slave. I am a monster but I do not kill those who are…" he struggled, grasping for the proper word. "…useful to me."

"You saved my life and offered to take me home because…I am useful to you?" Sansa narrowed her eyes. Sandor did not respond; that hadn't really been what he had meant, but it did the job of answering her borage of questions. "You, dog, are not a monster," she declared, stepping away from him. All traces of an innocent Little Bird had fled and she was now a spitfire Phoenix like she had been in the river. Her eyes were alight with anger, her face hardened by all the injustices done upon her, and she grimaced at him. "You are just a selfish, cruel, and awful excuse for a man!" She began to yell. "I am to be your leverage?! I am to be your prisoner! You will not bargain with me! I am not a pawn in your stupid games, and I will not be traded by a man as disgustingly dimwitted as you!" Sandor, almost impressed at first, grew angry.

"Watch yourself, girl," he warned, holding a hand out. Sansa slapped it away and, leaning on her tiptoes, shoved her face inches from his own.

"I am no 'girl', Dog. And I will not take any more orders from a coward like you," she said darkly.

"I said watch yourself," he repeated, louder. Sansa raised an eyebrow, testing him.

"No! You are a coward! A dog with no duty or honor, senseless and selfish and cowardly! Running to the North with your tail between your legs, you insolent, pathetic—" Sansa shrieked when she saw Sandor's hand flying towards her face. Immediately, she cowered away and shielded her cheek with her own hands, bending down so quickly that her wounded stomach gave out along with her knees and she fell to the ground.

Sandor's hand hung in midair, his eyes wide and his mouth open. _Oh Gods, oh Gods no,_ he swore in his head, his eyes finding the small girl cowering at his feet, whimpering apologies. He lowered his hand, staring at it like it was foreign and unknown to him, before leaning down to Sansa. She tried to crawl away from him but he gently grabbed her ankle.

"Sansa," he said, in a deep, rumbling voice. She was shaking, but she turned to look at him. He looked into her eyes, begging her to trust him, even though she had every reason not to.

"I will keep you safe," he murmured gruffly, almost awkwardly. "I will always keep you safe. From everything. Killers, rapists, storms, cruel boy kings…" he looked down. "…even myself. You will not be harmed."

Sansa stared at him, her face skeptical as he watched her. For once, she did not notice the scar on his face, or the roughness of his tone. Even when he was trying to be gentle, he still sounded frighteningly rugged, but Sansa could see past it, hear the promise in his voice, and though he had raised a hand to her, she knew he would not do it again.

Slowly, she nodded. He released her ankle and she rolled onto her side, exhausted from their heated exchange. She gave him one last glance before turning her back to him again.

"Goodnight, Little Bird," he said quietly, knowing she would not respond. A few moments passed.

"Goodnight…Sandor Clegane," she replied back, softer than he had spoken, yet he heard it all the same, and it felt as though she had lit a small fire in his chest.

XXX

"They can't have gotten far!" Joffrey yelled, striking Ser Meryn across the face. "You fool, did you check the whole village?!"

"Yes, Your Grace, no one has seen them!" Ser Meryn responded, rubbing his cheek gingerly. Cersei looked down at him and felt pity, yet displayed nothing but a steely confidence on her face. Now was the time to be strong.

"They are lying!" Joffrey yelled, shaking his fist. "All of them! Lying to their King! Burn the village! All of it!" he shrieked at his remaining Kingsguard, who looked anxiously at Ser Meryn. He had no choice but to oblige the blood-hungry boy.

"Yes, Your Grace," he replied stiffly, glancing at Cersei accusingly. She frowned at him, but said nothing as he walked back to his men. "Flaming arrows!" he yelled, and the order was repeated by another knight, who was the first to withdraw his bow from his side. The others followed suit, pulling out bows and small tins of oil to dip the arrows in.

"Fires!" Ser Meryn yelled, and his men lined up dutifully before he struck a fire upon a small stick. As he walked past each guard, he lit the tip of their arrow with the flame.

"Ready!" he called when he had finished. Cersei watched as Joffrey smiled a twisted, cruel grin.

"Release!"

Flaming arrows flew through the night sky, arcing in a brilliant form that made them look like comets before descending down upon the straw huts of the village. Almost instantly, screams erupted from the homes, and families poured out into the grass field.

"Again!" Joffrey commanded, smiling at the mayhem. Cersei looked away, disgusted with her son, as Ser Meryn re-lit the newly strung arrows. "I want to see them all burn!"

"Release!" Meryn called, and again the arrows took flight. Cersei turned her horse away; she had seen enough, and she could already hear the screams of those who were stuck by the arrows and of those who watched their homes burn to the ground. She closed her eyes, trying so hard to block them out, but there was one voice she could never hide, no matter how hard she tried to push it away.

"That's what you get!" Joffrey gloated, watching the destruction with satisfaction and leaning forward on his horse. "That will teach you to lie to your King! Meryn, again!" He even clapped his hands. He would leave a trail of fire in his wake, burning and hissing behind him, a promise to the Hound and the stupid Stark girl that they would be his before they reached safety. He would kill them. He would kill everyone in the kingdoms if he had to, but he would find the Hound and the Whore, and he would burn them alive.


	7. Chapter 7

Sandor sat by the fire and sighed, taking a swig of the bottle he had plundered from the village during a food excursion and hearing wolves outside howl at the moon. The sound made him glance down at his own Wolf, the Stark girl, who slept soundly at her feet, and he almost smiled. It was their last night staying in Harrenhal; Sansa's wounds had healed and though they left her painted with bruises, he was anxious to get on the road again. It would only be matter of time, if any of the Lannisters had escaped the King's Landing inferno, before the Lions began hunting the Hound and the Little Bird. Or Wolf. In her own way, she was a little like both. Soft and delicate, trusting and sweet like a bird, and yet he had seen the smallest hint of bite and bitterness, no doubt inherited from the cold walls of Winterfell and the wolves that inhabited the North.

"I cannot sleep," the Wolf spoke quietly, her back turned to him. Sandor looked down at her, but said nothing. It had become a habit, him trying to refrain from talking to her. Too often he would yell or curse at her when she spoke in that dainty, sing-song voice. It almost irked him, how softly she spoke, so careful and courteous, graceful; he felt too brutal to even listen to her sometimes. He couldn't help but feel a little ounce of pride when she dared speak more boldly, almost bravely, putting on a stubborn front and making her own demands. It was something he was noticing from her more and more on this journey.

"Did you hear me?" she asked, turning her neck ever so slightly.

"Yes," he replied gruffly. Sansa huffed and sat up, rubbing her neck. She gazed into the fire, and then looked at him drinking.

"What number bottle is that?" she asked sarcastically, then remembering herself, blushed and looked away; and there it was: a small hint of her Wolf-like ferocity, stifled quickly by her polite and gentile Little Bird manner. Sandor scoffed quietly to himself. He held out the bottle to her, but she looked at it shyly and did not take it from him.

"You might as well drink, girl," he said, pushing the bottle closer. Sansa looked at him, then the bottle, finally grabbing it from his hand and taking a swig. The ale burned in her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut as she swallowed. Her stomach threatened to reject the drink and force it back up, and she quickly handed it back to him. Sandor laughed and took it back, taking a big sip just to show off.

"Little Bird can't stomach her drink," he mocked, and Sansa had to keep herself from throwing him a dirty look. "Ehh, it's alright, girl. Birds sing songs, not down ale," he muttered.

"I am not so little," she retorted.

"I like you stubborn," he commented back, ignoring her interjection.

"You're drunk," she observed, looking at him with mild disdain. He raised the bottle as if to toast her.

"Aye, that's what happens when you get five bottles of pure ale for yourself," he replied. Sansa furrowed her brow and looked behind the chair, where two other bottles lay empty, while two more stood full. She shot out her hand and grabbed the bottles by the neck and stood, moving to dispose of them.

"Watch it!" The Hound stood up, reaching dumbly for the bottles, but Sansa held them away.

"We are leaving tomorrow, you do not need to be sick in the head because you drank too much," she scolded, sounding like a mother. It frustrated him that she was pulling authority over him. He was taller, larger, he was a man.

"Give it here, girl," he snarled, reaching again. Sansa moved out of his reach again. He lunged for a third time, and managed to knock the bottles loose from her hands as he toppled backwards into her and they fell to the ground. The bottles flew into the flames, cracked, and suddenly the fire burst forth with a loud bang. Sandor felt it lick at his body and his eyes widened while in his memory, Gregor shoved his face into that same fire.

Sansa, trapped below his massive form, was surprised to feel him shaking. She pushed against him, struggling to get up, but the great oaf of a man seemed helpless. And then she remembered: he was afraid of fire.

Sansa figured out how to slither her way out from underneath him and crawled to her cloak. The fire had shrunk somewhat, but still blazed in her eyes as she hurriedly threw the cloak over the fire and stomped on it. Embers licked her ankles but she continued to stomp until most of the flames had retreated.

"Are you alright?" she asked, turning to Sandor. He continued to lie on the ground, looking at where she had stamped out the fire, breathing heavily. He leaned his head back and covered his face with his hands.

"It's alright," Sansa said, walking over to him and kneeling by his head. "It's alright."

Sandor removed his hands, Gregor's laughing face disappearing before him slowly, replaced by his Little Bird's searching, concerned eyes. He blinked, confirming she was before him, and let out a low breath before sitting up. Sansa crossed her legs and sat before him, and he saw the small burn marks on her ankles. He grimaced.

"You're hurt," he said, in a low and clouded voice. She looked at her ankles, then back at him, and said it was nothing. "Little Bird is singed," he said. Sansa shushed him.

"Are you alright?" she asked him again. He looked at her with confused eyes before turning his head away, embarrassed at his moment of weakness.

"Yes, girl," he replied, his voice returning to it's normal harsh tone. Sansa leaned away from him, and it only made him angrier. He was humiliated by his reaction to the fire, and frustrated at being talked down to by a girl who had barely flowered. "Leave me be," he huffed at her, pushing her gently out of his way. He half expected her to spit back some kind of retort, give him another glance at her wolf side. He waited for the biting remark, but it was never dealt. He walked a few paced away and finally turned back to look at her.

Sansa had stood up and was facing him, but she had tears streaming down her face. He stopped short; he had never seen her look so lost, so alone. Her ice blue eyes had melted, replaced by pools of…something he couldn't identify. Confusion? Betrayal? He did not know, but even a brutal man like him could feel some guilt.

"Little Bird," he started, but she cut him off.

"I know I'm just a 'Little', stupid Bird to you," she choked out, looking at her feet. "But I've…I've seen things; I saw my father murdered, I saw many men being murdered, I saw women beaten…I'm not so weak-minded or incapable as you think," her voice sounded so small, it cracked at his hardened heart. He was going to go to her, fix her, but she looked at him and he found himself frozen.

"Why do you keep saving me?" she asked. "Please, if you only answer one question for the rest of our journey, let it be this one. Why do you keep saving me?"

Sandor knew he could not ignore her, or deny her an answer. He couldn't reply with a mocking remark or shrug it off with a careless excuse. He opened his mouth, struggling to find an answer, but he was a man of the sword, not of the word. Sansa waited, but soon her heart fell, giving up hope that he would resond, and she looked away, disappointed. She sniffed, wiped her eyes, and lifted her head.

"Very well," she stated, and went to walk past him to the fur-covered ground where she slept. Sandor stumbled over his words and grabbed for her as she walked past, not wanting to lose her now. His arms, free from their armor, easily catch her by the waist and hold her still as he turns to her. Sansa looks up into his face. She didn't say anything, just looked at him with a fire in her ice blue eyes.

"I…you are…" Sandor wanted to punch a wall; he sounded like a halfwit. His own eyes must have been begging for her to understand, because eventually, she nodded. She placed her hands on his arms as they held her, and ever so slowly, she eased herself further into his embrace, leaning her head on his chest. Sandor stood awkwardly still, unsure of how to react. Part of him was blazing, burning; warming every cold crevice of his body. The other part of him was repulsed by their embrace, screaming at him to let her go, reminding him of what happens when you let someone get too close. A battle raged inside him between shoving her away and pulling her closer. She was so small, so delicate in his bulky arms.

"Thank you," she murmured quietly into his chest, and the battle was won by the sound of her soft voice. Sandor's arms seemed to act on their own, pulling her closer to him and tucking her fiery red hair under his chin. He closed his eyes, dropping the emotional armor and letting her in, allowing himself this one moment of happiness. Sansa sighed softly, placing her arms on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, strong and sure, and wondered if he could feel hers; fast and uneven. She felt anxious and safe all at once here with the Hound. Her Hound. Did she dare call him that? No, but she could enjoy this, this moment of security and bliss, curled in the arms of her protector. Right now, he was her Hound.

XXX

As planned, they departed Harrenhal the next morning. Neither of them spoke about the night before as they bundled up the furs and leftover food with the horses. Sansa pulled herself up onto Marya while Sandor sat on Stranger, waiting and glancing at the sky. The clouds over Harrenhal were always gray, and one could never know if it would actually rain or storm, or just continue to be a bleak omen for all who passed through.

When they were all packed and ready, they set off again, avoiding the Kingsroad and instead electing to travel through rougher lands to dodge being spotted by any unwanted company.

Sandor was silent, as was Sansa, and after awhile, it began to worry her. Perhaps their embrace had been a mistake in Sandor's eyes, and his silence was a sign of his regret. The Hound seemed to sense her gaze and turned back to look at her.

"What is it?" he asked her in his normal, gruff voice.

"Nothing," she responded quickly. He turned away as though he did not want to look at her anymore, and Sansa forgot any lingering feeling of happiness from the safety of his arms the night before.

They stopped for a meal hours later, taking shelter beyond the trees where they had a clear vantage point of the Kingsroad. Sansa broke a loaf of bread and each of them nibbled on small bites meat, trying to preserve it as much as they could. They ate in continued silence, much to Sansa's concern. Several times she tried to make eye contact with the Hound, but he never looked at her, not even when she offered him bread. Finally, he spoke.

"I'm taking a piss," he grunted, standing up. "Stay here," he commanded, and Sansa nodded. She hoped he would not be long, but she didn't say that out loud as he walked off.

Sansa sat by and continued to eat her last piece of meat. They had escaped the gray skies of Harrenhal and now sat under the clear sun. Sansa closed her eyes, feeling the warmth on her face, and felt the ghost of a smile on her lips. Summer was not completely gone, not yet. She stayed like that for some time before she heard noises from down the road beyond the small hill. She squinted, placing a hand over her eyes as a visor to block out the sun, and watched.

She saw the two gold flags before she saw the soldiers, but the banners alone sent tremors of fear through her body. Her eyes widened and she froze. _It can't be him, it can't be Joffrey. He should have burned. He had to have been killed. It cannot be him._ She sat dumbfounded, desperate to see if he rode with the gold banners. Slowly, a few members of the Kingsguard appeared, hoisting the flags, dressed in common clothes and wearing little armor. Her breath caught when she saw Cersei, Tommen, and Myrcella appear behind them. Part of her was glad for the little prince and princess, but her heart turned cold at the sight of the former Queen Regent. However, her icy heart was nothing to the horror she felt when she saw that short, blonde hair sitting over that pale, cruel face appear over the hill. She gasped aloud, praising the Gods for holding back her internal screams as she watched him trot down the road. They all rode on horseback. All had their heads covered and wore modest clothing, except Joffrey, who covered his head but remained wearing one of his expensive velvet vests. _They must carry the banners to attract any remaining supporters, _she thought to herself._ They are mad if they believe they still have a claim on the throne now…_

She adjusted her position and froze when a twig snapped beneath her foot. Joffrey held up a hand and was peering into the forest as Sansa began to sweat, praying he wouldn't see her through the branches. To her horror, he hopped off his horse and began sauntering over to the woods, beckoning one of his knights to follow him. Sansa's breathing became heavy, even though she tried to stifle it. He was coming closer.

A large hand covered her mouth and pulled her around it's body, and she found herself once again pressed against the Hound, her back crushed against his armored chest as he ducked them behind a low bluff.

"Shh," he whispered gently in her ear, and when she nodded, he removed his hand and placed it on her waist. Sansa couldn't help but wriggle as close as she could to him, feeling that familiar protection only he could give her.

"Joffrey?" she heard Cersei call.

"Your Grace," the boy replied bitingly, reprimanding his mother for forgetting her proper manners. She could not hear the conversation beyond that, but could sense his retreating footsteps and those of his guard. She silently let out a sigh of relief. Looking up, she could see the Hound watching over the bluff as the group continued on. When he saw that they had gone, he looked down and met her eyes. He stared at her for a long time, and Sansa couldn't tell what was on his mind. His look was a glaring, almost rough leer and Sansa was wondering if he was regretting more than just the embrace.

Sandor finally looked away from the girl, and released her. Silently, she went to clean up camp. He remained seated, leaning his head back against a tree.

_ Gods be damned, _he thought_, I should have sent her with someone else. Why did I ever think she would be safe with me?_


	8. Chapter 8

They had made it safely to a village that lay near the House of Frey's keep, the Twins. Sansa was weary from travelling; she longed for a real bath instead of wading into murky rivers. She missed eating her share at feasts with long tables and jolly company, instead of scraps of meat with her moody companion. Most of all, she missed her family; little Bran and Rickon, who secretly loved it when she let them brush her hair; Jon, who teased her until her annoyance melted away and she was crying from laughter; Robb, with his protective eyes when he smiled at her; even Arya, with her mischievous games. She thought of her mother's kind eyes and warm, gentle hands, and her father's wise face and proud smile. The smile she'd never see again.

"Are you crying?" the Hound led his horse next to hers, looking down at her with an almost disgusted look, yet there was a mocking smile on his lips.

"No," Sansa replied stubbornly, blinking away un-fallen tears. The Hound let out a guffaw and Sansa's cheeks burned red. If she weren't so bloody terrified of the man, she would reach up and slap him.

"At least I have people to miss me!" she snapped. The Hound shook his head, still smiling.

"You should know me well enough by now to know sentiment is not a weakness of mine," he scolded her jokingly.

"Because you have a heart of stone," she responded, looking away from him.

"Probably," was his answer, continuing on. Sansa could not tell if he meant still spoke in his light-hearted manner or if his moody, quiet demeanor had taken hold once again.

"Shall we be stopping here tonight?" Sansa asked hopefully, glancing at the small inn and imagining herself wrapped up in a cozy bed instead of the harsh ground she was becoming accustomed to.

"No," Sandor answered without turning to look at her. "The horses will be rested soon and we can continue riding."

"Why can't we stop?" she asked, knowing she sounded like a child whining, but the pain in her back and her head was beginning to overwhelm her. "Please, we can come up with false names, just for one night," she dared to run up and catch him. "Please, I beg you," she panted, already out of breath from weariness.

Sandor stopped to regard the girl and had to admit she looked haggard. She had become excruciatingly thin under her common clothes, and had deep purple bags hanging under her tired, blue eyes. It both annoyed and pained him to see her so weak. He wanted to press on, try to avoid the Lannister party as much as they could. He guessed they were headed towards the Twins to question Walder Frey about any sightings of a small redheaded girl and a large, traitorous Hound.

Still, if he was right and they were off towards the great walls of the Twins, then being across the fork was as good a location as they could have at this point. A hot meal and bath, with a soft bed and full meal made even him eager for the inn's hospitality. Another glance at Sansa and he was convinced.

"For one night," he said in a low voice, pulling her aside. "We will stay one night. What is your name?" he asked her. Sansa looked confused.

"San—"

"No. We will use false names. What shall yours be?"

"Jeyne," she said after a moment of thinking, remembering her friend from her childhood. Sandor nodded.

"Mine will be Cal, Cal Gardon," he responded, pulling a name out of thin air that sounded common enough. "You will be my wife, we will say we are travelling by sea, past the Three Sisters to Oldcastle."

"I am to be your wife?"

"Would you rather be my daughter so I may strike you in public for stupid questions?" he asked her, not harshly, looking into her eyes. Sansa found, for once, she was unafraid. He wouldn't hurt her, she knew that by now. She nodded; wife it was, then.

"Do not speak unless I speak to you," he said to her, pulling cloth over her head and covering her hair. She nodded. The sky turned a dark red as Sandor stripped off his armor, revealing the common-folk clothing underneath. Luckily, his saddlebag was large enough to hold the breastplate, both leg guards, and one shoulder. The other he placed in Sansa's bag.

Together the two of them walked to the inn as darkness began to descend upon the land. A man outside took the horses to the stables and led them to the small entrance.

"Evenin' good man!" a jolly innkeeper met them there, smiling with a gap tooth grin. "And to you, beautiful lady," he said, bowing to Sansa jokingly. Sansa had to remind herself that she was not Lady Sansa Stark right now, but Jeyne Gardon, wife of Cal Gardon, travelling by sea past the Three Sisters to Oldtown. She smiled at the innkeeper.

"One room," Sandor said gruffly, looking around suspiciously.

"O'course, one room for the good man and his lady wife," the man responded, winking and beckoning them to come inside. They were stopped at a table and Sansa could see into the tavern, where rowdy travelers and whores paraded around the tables, clanking together their mugs and showing their breasts. She grimaced and turned back to Sandor.

"How much?" he asked, and the innkeeper's response was drowned out by the sound of a fight breaking out. Sansa inched closer to the Hound, who surprisingly drew her close. _He's your husband, remember?_ She reminded herself, and smiled charmingly at the man as Sandor handed over several coins.

"Up the stairs, to tha' right, firs' door!" the inkeep said happily, sitting back and counting his coins. "Grab yer'selves somethin' ta' eat!"

Sandor led her to the noisy tavern and kept an arm wrapped gently around her waist as they waded through the crowd. She was grateful for his presence so close to her; the travelers here were drunk and had hungry eyes as she walked past.

"Two bowls?" a man asked, standing behind a high table. Sandor nodded to the man and tossed him a few coins too.

"Ale for me," he glanced at Sansa. "And milk for the lady," he continued. The man laughed but set two steaming bowls of stew on the table, then two large mugs. Sandor took his cup and bowl and led Sansa to the back of the tavern where the crowd was not as rowdy.

"Eat quickly," he said to her quietly. She took a sip of milk first, and then began working on her stew. It was not the grandest meal she'd eaten, but the hot beef and broth made her want to sing. It was no feast, but it was better than scraps, and she shoved it down quickly. Sandor did not seem to notice as she easily finished her first bowl.

"Could I go get some more?" she asked him. Sandor glanced at her, then her bowl, almost in disbelief.

"You may look it in the sunlight, but one could never tell you were a lady by the way you scarf down your food," he told her. She frowned, embarrassed now, and stood to go retrieve more stew without his permission. He placed a hand on her arm and pulled her back down in her seat.

"Stay, I'll go. Don't talk to anyone," he said, standing and retreating back through the crowd to the bar. Sansa shifted in her seat as far into the corner as possible. No one seemed to notice she was alone yet, and she preferred to keep it that way.

She could see the Hound's back as he stood at the bar, waiting for her food. She took another sip of milk and glanced down into her lap.

"'Ey, pretty one," a man slithered up beside her, drunk, spilling his drink onto her dress. "You're quite a looker."

"Excuse me," she squeaked, shifting away. He advanced after her, determined.

"Where do you…where do ya' think ya' goin', love?" he slurred. He took a swig from his mug. "I won' bite ye'…much, love," he said, leaning close to her ear. Sansa found she could not move any farther away from him, so she pushed him back as hard as she could.

"Keep away from me," she protested, but she had only angered the man.

"Wench," he called her, throwing down his mug and it shattered on the floor, ale splashing Sansa's feet. "'Ow dare ya!" he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her down below the table. Sansa struggled at first but he found ways to render her unable to fidget. He moved the cloth from her hair and spied its fiery red color, and hee smiled down at her, a sick and twisted smile. "I t'ink I'll like this," he rasped, and Sansa found herself still unable to fight him as he sat on her legs and pinned her arms on the bench where she had sat. He leaned in and took a deep breath before kissing her neck. Sansa felt like she would be ill. She tried calling out but no one could hear her over the drone of the tavern-goers. The man held both her arms with one, large hand as the other went to her waist, pulling up the top part of her dress and exposing her bare skin. He ran his fingers over it, greasy and packed with hair, and Sansa wanted to cry.

Suddenly, the man floated off her, as if flying, and Sansa looked up, surprised and relieved at her freedom. The man was lifted high up, then thrown against the wall by Sandor, her Hound, who waited until her attacker had lifted himself up again before crossing over to him in three giant steps and grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

"Keep your filthy hands shoved down your pants, and off my wife," he growled, more fiercely than she had ever heard him speak. She was shaking as he let the man fall to the bench in a heap; he had wet himself, and he scurried away from the Hound. Sandor turned to her and held out his hand, which she took eagerly.

He didn't say anything, just lifted her up like a babe and cradled her as he walked out of the tavern. He carried her up the stairs and into the room before dropping her unceremoniously onto the bed.

"Are you alright?" he asked, pulling a chair close and sitting across from her. She remained sprawled on the bed, forgetting her manners and refusing to sit up and even out her skirts. Sandor was shocked by her indecency; the old Lady Stark would have sat up immediately and straightened her neck and shoulders, insisting that she was fine. This new Sansa barely looked at him.

"Little Bird," he chided, and she finally met his gaze.

"I'm so tired," she whispered, her eyes shimmering. "I'm tired of being attacked by drunkards, I'm tired of sleeping on the ground and riding on a horse. I'm tired of scraps of meat and grass, no milk or honey to sweeten their taste," she shifted so she lay on her back and looked at the ceiling. "Do you know, I'm even tired of being saved? I thought that was what I wanted: to always be a damsel in distress and have a gallant knight rescue me," she sighed, closed her eyes, then looked at him. "You are saving me constantly, yet you are no knight."

"No," he agreed, not knowing what else to say.

"I want to be home, I want to be safe. But I never will be. Joffrey will hunt me for the rest of my life, which will be short, for Gods know I am not smart enough nor strong enough to outrun him, and he will kill me."

"No," Sandor said again. Sansa let out a dark laugh.

"You're right, he'll rape me first," she replied. Sandor stood and nearly toppled over the chair as he clamored to his feet. He did not know why, but the image of that blonde-haired monster of a boy lying on top of his Little Bird as she screamed and screamed made his heart burn.

"He will have already killed you," she told him gently, a tear sliding down her cheek. "You will not be able to save me anymore."

Sandor paced momentarily around the room before kneeling in front of her, gently turning her cheek so she could face him.

"I will always save you," he told her fiercely, looking deep into her eyes. Sansa realized this promise was not romantic or gallant, like it would have been in the songs. It was savage, brutal; a threat more than a promise. It was protection of the fiercest kind, and Sansa found herself giving him a small smile. She gingerly laid a hand on the burnt side of his face, gently stroking the waxy skin.

"You can be my knight," she said softly. Any other day, Sandor would have protested and cited the ironies of knighthood. He would have convinced her that he had no honor to defend in knighthood, remind her that he was no 'Ser', but tonight, he welcomed her statement. Perhaps being the sworn knight of his Little Bird would not be so unhappy a position. Perhaps he may even come to like it.

_A/N: Hello all, I'm sorry this was a shorter chapter, but it was a long day and this was the best I could do! Things will be picking up in the next chapter or two, so keep your eyes peeled and don't give up on me yet! I love you all, thank you so much for sticking with this story and with me! _


	9. Chapter 9

Sansa woke in the middle of the night, shivering. The inn barely supplied enough blankets and they were far enough North that the nights grew immensely chilly. She sighed and pulled her knees up to her chest, trying to keep her eyes closed. It was pointless.

Eventually, Sansa huffed and sat up, rubbing her eyes and peering around the room. Enough moonlight was streaming through the window so she could make out minimal features around her. She leaned forward and could see Sandor sleeping at the foot of the bed without any blankets, and she eyed his traveling cloak slung over a wooden chair. Figuring he would have used it if he needed it, Sansa slowly crept out of the bed and grabbed the cloak. It was heavier than she thought, and she nearly tripped over how long it was, but she managed to pull it on the bed and spread it over the thin blankets. She pulled the neck of the cloak up around her face and breathed in. She could smell the richness of the forest and the familiar yet unidentifiable musky scent of the Hound. She had become pretty accustomed to it over the course of their journey.

The cloak gave her welcomed warmth, and she found the cold slipping away as she enveloped herself inside of it. She closed her eyes and snuggled up closer, finally falling asleep.

XXX

When the Hound woke up, he was surprised to find Sansa asleep under his traveling cloak. He stood looking over her, not wanting to wake her up but knowing they needed to leave, and soon. But still, she looked so peaceful, and he was relieved to finally see her resting. The Little Bird had looked so weak before.

"Sansa," he said gently, prodding her shoulder. Sansa's brow furrowed and she murmured quietly, rolling away from him and clutching his cloak tighter in her arms. Sandor wanted to smile, but he was growing anxious. "Wake up, Sansa," he said, a little louder, and he shook her gently.

Sansa woke with a start and grasped the cloak and looking around, alarmed. Sandor shushed her.

"It's just me, girl, relax," he said quietly, moving away from the bed. "I'm going to take a bath. You stay here." He left her sitting in the bed and gave her one last glance before closing the door behind him.

They left not long after. Sansa was able to bathe quickly after the Hound was finished, and the two of them skipped breakfast in order to get on the move faster. They fetched their horses, tipped the stableboy, and were on their way before the sun was barely over the hills.

Sansa felt refreshed after their night at the inn, no longer as weary or as starving as she had been. Even Sandor sat up a little straighter in his horse. Sansa smiled smugly to herself; she knew it had been a good idea to stop.

"What are you smiling about?" Sandor asked her, looking at her smile as she rode beside him. No longer did she cower behind, riding at his back on her horse in fear of not only him, but also whatever lay before them on the road. Now, she had experienced enough to ride beside him with confidence.

"I was right, it was a good idea to stay at the inn," she responded. Sandor grunted and dropped it, unwilling to admit she had been right. _Stubborn as a dog_, Sansa thought to herself, shaking her head. She decided not to press further conversation, knowing how little he enjoyed it. Instead, she admired the day around her; the sun was shining and the sky was a light blue, with a breeze that made the remaining Summer air pleasant. Sansa could feel the wind finger through her loose hair and she sighed; finally, a day without gloomy clouds looming overhead.

"Beautiful day," she commented lightly. Sandor grunted again, but she didn't mind. For once, the silence was not awkward; if anything, she was used to it by now. Sandor was not a man of many words, save for when he had some sly mockery of her. He was not used to accompanying ladies on journeys, or company in general, really, so silence was all he was used to, and Sansa finally accepted that.

They stopped sometime past midday to take their lunch. Sansa's good mood was dampened slightly at the site of the all-too familiar scraps of meat. She ate them quickly, and leaned back against a tree while Sandor ate his.

"How far will we go?" she asked him, bored.

"Dunno," he said back, finishing his meat. "As long as we can. I don't want the Lannisters to catch up."

"Won't they just follow us to Winterfell?" she asked him, closing her eyes and picturing her home. Maybe Arya had made it back safely and was playing with Rickon and Bran right now, while Sansa fought to even see Winterfell's gate once more.

"Probably," Sandor replied, picking meat out of his teeth. Sansa looked at him, slightly disgusted. "Don't get all scared," he said, noticing the look on her face. "Joffrey will die before he touches you again."

"You are so bent on protecting me," she observed. Sandor nodded, not bothering to deny it.

"You already knew that," he replied, eyeing her. Sansa returned his gaze, and they were quiet for a few moments while they stared the other down. Eventually, Sandor grunted and looked away, standing.

"Let's continue," he said, and Sansa wordlessly agreed, standing next to him. She gently touched his arm before he could turn away from her.

"Thank you," she said, smiling at him. She felt genuinely happy for the first time in weeks. The Lannisters were on their trail, Sansa was nearly raped twice, and everyday seemed like a fight for their lives. Yet, she was safe, thanks to the Hound. She had told him last night that he could be her knight, and in many ways, he was.

"Please don't protest, just accept my thanks. You have saved my life many times, and though I cannot repay you now, I can promise you money and an estate when we reach Winterfell," she said. Sandor did not return her smile.

"I didn't do it for money," he replied, staring hard into her eyes. As he looked at her, somewhere in her mind, Sansa couldn't help but wonder what he meant. He was always saying these cryptic statements, and though he always said them in a cruel tone, they left Sansa feeling like he was trying to tell her something. Sometimes, she thought she could decipher his feelings for her based on his reactions; saving her from Joffrey all those times, naming her his wife when they went to the inn when it wasn't necessary…everything he did, he did for her. And yet, he constantly made her feel like she was a bother, an annoying child he must escort to her home.

Sandor pushed past her and climbed onto his horse, waiting for her to follow suite. Sansa almost wanted to refuse, sit down and act as stubborn as the Hound, but that would only encourage the idea that she was a spoiled child. She had no choice but to stand and climb up on her horse. Sandor spurred Stranger without waiting for her to get seated and Sansa found herself looking at the Hound's back once again.

XXX

In time, they came upon another village, smaller than the first, in a matter of hours. Sansa could see into the streets, looking hungrily at the markets where she could see fresh fruits that made her mouth water. Sandor glanced back and followed her gaze.

"No," he said abruptly. Sansa looked back at him.

"Please? They look so good. We won't linger," she argued, but Sandor continued riding. "Don't they look good compared to the scraps? Please?" she begged. Sandor stopped, knowing that if he continued on she'd annoy him to death with her pleas for the food.

"One night in an inn and you expect to be spoiled like the princess you are," he muttered, looking past her at the town. Sansa didn't argue, just waited hopefully. Sandor knew he would not say no, but at least he could give himself the satisfaction of making her wait.

Finally, he answered: "Very well."

Sansa couldn't stop herself from giving a little squeal of delight. Sandor made a disgruntled noise and pulled the reins of his horse towards the village. Sansa followed him happily. It was a short trot to the market, and the two of them hopped off their horses at the edge of town and tied them to a drinking post to rest before venturing further in. Sansa went straight to the sweet plums and nectarines, excitedly inspecting them.

Sandor stood a little ways off, watching her carefully, feeling more like a bodyguard than a companion to a lady on her journey. Still, she had called him "her knight" at the inn. He watched the girl admire the fruits and felt a protective urge as she turned to talk to the merchant. Huffing, he turned away.

"…the Frey's have never been trust-worthy…" his ears pricked up when he heard the name Frey. He wondered if the Lannisters had reached the Twins yet. Shifting slightly, he moved closer to the conversation to hear more.

"Unfathomable," a peasant said. "To kill a guest…but an entire party?"

"Gods damn him, I knew he was a rat. The old bastard lies in his towers with his wives, thinking only of himself."

"I heard the girl was pregnant," the first one whispered again, sounding horrified. Sandor frowned. Which girl? Not Cersei…Myrcella then? But whom could she have laid with?

"Seven Hells," the companion breathed. "Robb Stark murdered and his pregnant wife butchered, along with his heir…I cannot believe it." Sandor's eyes grew and he looked quickly at Sansa, who was blissfully unaware, still admiring the fruits.

"And the Lady Stark," the first woman said again, in hushed tones. He heard her companion suck in a fast breath.

"No…Not Catelyn Tully! The Freys were sworn to the Tullys!"

"Aye, it's a tragedy. Now the Stark throne falls to the crippled son…" the women's voices faded as they walked away, and Sandor took a deep breath. Robb Stark, his mother, and pregnant wife, apparently murdered at the hands of an assumed ally. Sansa had purchased her treats, more than she should have, and was looking at him with eager eyes and a smiling face. Sandor ducked out of her site and fetched the horses before meeting her at the edge of town.

"Sweet plums and nectarines," she boasted, holding up the fruit-filled sack with pride. "I've missed these."

"Let's go," Sandor said, desperate to get out of the village. Sansa looked at him quizzically, but obeyed, handing him the sack as she climbed up her horse. He handed it back to her and waited until she had put it in her saddle.

"We'll move a mile or so up, then we can stop so you can eat," he told her gently, and Sansa was surprised at his generosity. She had expected him to demand they travel longer into the night in return for her delay, but she would not argue with the chance to rest and enjoy her sweets.

They traveled a short distance before Sandor wordlessly climbed down. He was more suspicious than usual, looking around every few seconds. Sansa did not ask him about it, but took note. She climbed down and allowed him to tie Marya up to a tree as she sat below on the ground, pulling a plum out of the bag and not waiting to take a bite. Sandor let her finish the fruit, not wanting to interrupt her last moment of joy. Sansa ate it quickly, not bothering to savor it. Purple juice trickled out of the side of her smiling mouth as she closed her eyes.

"Sansa," he began, quiet and gentle. Sansa opened her eyes, her smile still on her face, and looked at him.

"Mmm?" she asked. Sandor looked at her with sad eyes, wanting to save that smile and hold on to it for the rest of their journey.

"I overheard women in the village…apparently your brother Robb and his wife, along with your mother, were at the Twins recently." Sansa's face lit up.

"Perhaps they are still there!" she said excitedly. Sandor tried not to show any emotion on his face, but inside, his stone heart cracked.

"I'm so sorry, Little Bird," he said quietly, sitting in front of her. Sansa's face fell and she looked at him, confused. He wanted to reach out to her; to hold her against his chest, let her read his mind so he wouldn't have to say the words.

"Your brother and mother are dead," he said, as gently as he could, looking down. "Your brother's wife and…his unborn child…are also dead."

He didn't want to, but eventually he looked up to meet her gaze. Her ice blue eyes looked frozen, glazed over, as she stared at him, unseeing. Her face was still, unmoving, still painted over with her confused expression.

"I'm so sorry, Little Bird," he said again, moving towards her. Sansa looked down, her mouth hanging open. "Little Bird."

"No," she said, quietly. "No, they can't be…they, they were home, in…Winterfell…" The confusion melted away, and an unbridled sorrow took its place. She looked so lost, so broken now that it almost hurt him to look her in the eye.

"No…" she whispered again, and the first tear fell. Sandor moved to her, wrapping his large arms around her small frame as she began to shake with choking sobs. She didn't bother fighting him off. She let him hold her close, placing her hands him and burying her face in his chest.

"Hush, Little Bird…I'm here," he murmured, gently kissing the top of her head. "I'm here…"


	10. Chapter 10

_Sansa hid behind the tree, trying to hold her breath to keep quiet. She listened closely for the sound of approaching footsteps, twigs snapping, anything to alert her to someone's presence. She glanced up at the sky, the sunlight streaming through tree branches high above her, and she saw him._

_ "Bran!" she whispered, as loud as she dared. Bran chuckled and held a finger to his lips, pointing behind the tree. Sansa shook her head but quieted. Far off, she could hear a bird chirping as a light breeze ruffled through her hair._

_ "GOTCHA!" Robb grabbed her arm and Sansa screamed. Her brother laughed and tickled her under her arm and Sansa tried to shove him away._

_ "Stop! Robb! Stop it!" she squealed, clawing at his big hands, but he just laughed harder. "Robb!"_

_ Robb finally stopped long enough to hear the laughter above them. He wrapped his arms around Sansa from behind to keep her from running off and looked up, spying Bran perched on the tree._

_ "Bran!" he called up, smiling. "Get down here and help me torture your sister!"_

_ "Coming!" Bran called back, and Sansa squirmed. _

_ "Who are we torturing?" Arya appeared from her hiding spot with little Rickon in tow, her eyes eager. "Sansa?"_

_ "No!" Sansa cried, half laughing, trying to wrestle free from Robb's arms._

_ "Oh no you don't!" he teased her, tickling her sides. Arya ran forward and held Sansa's arms out and she laughed harder. Little Rickon clapped and jumped up and down and Robb and Arya tickled Sansa half to death and Bran landed on the ground._

_ "It's better if you get her knees!" Called Jon, as he came upon the group as well. Sansa began kicking as Bran and Arya grabbed her ankles and spread her on the ground, quickly taking off her shoes and attacking her feet with wiggly fingers._

_ "S-Stop! Please! Stop, stop!" Sansa laughed breathlessly, trying to roll away from her siblings._

_ "Children!" the tickling ceased at the sound of Catelyn Stark's voice. They all looked up, Sansa pushing Arya and Bran off her feet gently and pulling her sandals back on. "Dinner is ready whenever you are done with poor Sansa," she said, smiling down at them. Sansa hurriedly stood up._

_ "I'm coming!" she called, sticking her tongue out at her brothers and sister, who rolled their eyes and followed her. Catelyn stood with Ned, both of them waiting as their children filed in past them, playfully pushing on another and ruffling each other's hair. Sansa looked back and saw her mother kiss her father, leaning back and gazing into his eyes and smiling. Sansa smiled too, but looked away, dreaming of the day she would kiss her own husband like that._

When she awoke, Sansa was surprised that she dreamt. She was more surprise that she slept. The past two nights, she had only lain on her cloak, staring at the sky. She didn't speak or eat, and it frustrated the Hound to no end. Yesterday, he even yelled at her to eat, but she just looked at him. He stopped bothering after that.

It was still dark when Sansa sat up, but she could hear soft snores coming from the Hound. She pulled her blanket from the inn up around her chest and rolled her neck, though she felt no pain. She was numb, and she had been that way since she learned that Robb and her mother were...gone.

Tears stung her eyes.

"Damn it," she muttered. If only Septa Mordane could see her now; sleeping on the ground, wearing dirty clothes, swearing out loud. She wiped her cheeks, tired of crying. Tired of being sad. Tired.

"Little Bird?" the Hound had woken up and was looking at her with concerned, but guarded eyes. "Everything alright?" he asked. Sansa pulled her knees up to her chin and rested her head, peering at him sideways.

"When I was a girl, my brothers would hold down my limbs and let Arya and Rickon tickle me. I was the most ticklish out of all of us," she told him. Her eyes were locked on his face, but he could see she was far away from him. "They would all gang up on me, every time, and I hated it. Until it was over, and my stomach hurt from laughing, and I'd almost ask them to do it again." She smiled sadly and her eyes focused on his. "Littlefinger once told me how your brother burned your face. I said I would never tell you…is it true? What he did to you?" she asked. Sandor sat up and looked down at the ground.

"Aye," he muttered. Sansa didn't say anything, but waited for him to continue. "Littlefinger shouldn't have told you."

"I'm sorry," she replied, not for knowing his secret, but for what happened to him as a child. "What were you like before he did this to you?" Sansa asked. She was close enough to reach out and gently stroke his burned cheek. He sighed.

"I was like any child," he answered her slowly. "I played with small toys and swords, dreamed of becoming a knight, I stole kisses and gropes from the servant girls," he replied, his voice sounded much different than his normal gruffness. He sounded smaller, younger. It made her want to listen closer.

"Gregor was never like that. He was possessive, crude. Where I liked to kiss the servant girls, Gregor liked to beat them. He used to play tricks on them."

"He sounds like Joffrey," Sansa murmured. The Hound nodded. "How could you stomach him? Joffrey, I mean," she asked.

"I didn't, I just imagined the day the mob would cut his balls off," he responded. Sansa barely flinched at his bawdy language. "And you needed me," he said again. She met his gaze and gave him another sad smile.

"You remind me of Robb sometimes," she noted. "He was always very protective of me and my sister."

"I'm sorry he died," Sandor said awkwardly. "And your mother."

"And Robb's pregnant wife," Sansa replied bitingly. "The sister in law that I'll never know, and the nephew I'll never meet." Sansa breathed out, closing her eyes and picturing a beautiful woman; Robb liked brunettes, shorter girls, and Sansa tried to imagine what she would have looked like. They could have been great friends; Sansa could have stitched a little dress or vest for the tiny Northern prince or princess.

"I'm sorry," Sandor said again. Sansa nodded. The stars above her burned extra bright tonight, she found herself admiring them.

"I'll kill Walder Frey," she said after a few minutes. "I may not be the one to drive the knife through his heart but I will live to see the life leave his eyes, I can promise you that, and it will be on my orders," she told him, with a newfound wickedness dripping from every word. Sandor raised his eyebrows, impressed.

"Perhaps I'll run the knife through him for you," he said. Sansa nodded, giving him her first genuine smile; small, but it was there.

"Then you would be a true knight, and you wouldn't want that," she reminded him. Sandor looked at her through the darkness and saw how she glowed in the moonlight, her eyes shimmering as the stars did far above them. He moved closer to her.

"You said I was," he growled quietly. Sansa looked at him, expressionless. He could see how hard a woman she had become, and he was not surprised given all she had to endure at King's Landing. She was his Little Bird by name, but not by nature, not anymore. "You called me your knight."

"So I did. You do not believe in knighthood," she pointed out. Sandor dared shift even closer.

"I could," he replied. "I could believe it for you." Sansa raised an eyebrow.

"You are only saying this because I am weeping and need comfort," she said, her voice turning icy, and she looked away. Something inside of Sandor's gut caught fire and he moved towards her yet again, practically sitting on her.

"I said I would keep you safe. I will always keep you safe," he said, fierce but gentle. Ever so slowly, for what seemed like an eternity, he gingerly reached a hand out to her. He caught sight of his palm in the moonlight and could see how rough it was, scarred and bumpy with callouses and cuts, tough and dirty, and he almost withdrew it. But he looked at her face, at her guarded eyes, and found himself stretching it forth again. Lightly, as though handling a babe, he cupped her cheek. She did not move, she barely breathed. She only watched him. His thumb stroked her cheekbone gently, her skin as soft as flower petals.

"I will be a knight for you, Sansa Stark, and no one else. I will protect you," he promised her, and her lips just barely parted in mild disbelief.

"You…don't want to be a knight," she replied stupidly, and the Hound reached his other hand up boldly and placed it on her other cheek, holding her face in his hands.

"Seven Hells, girl," he swore. "Don't you understand? I need you alive, I—"

"Why?" She demanded, anger flaring up in her eyes as she tried to pull away, but Sador held her face firmly. "So you can barter me for your freedom? For gold? I know what kind of man you are, Sandor Clegane, I know of your selfishness. You care only for your own skin."

"Then why would I protect you at all? If what you're saying were true, I would have had no use for you in King's Landing. I could have let Joffrey beat you, rape you, kill you, but I didn't," he barked back. Sansa looked away from him, her eyes beginning to overflow once again.

"Look at me!" he grunted, and Sansa remembered how he had once cornered her in the corridor of the castle and forced her to look at him. The day he declared her the Little Bird.

"I am looking at you," she spat, growing angry at him for thinking she was a fool. "I see the Hound before me, no knight. You have saved my life for the sole purpose of trading me to my family for safety and money, but I will not be anyone's pawn anymore!" She pulled her face away from his grip, fire burning in her eyes.

"I was a pawn to Cersei, I was a pawn to Joffrey, to Lord Baelish, to every damned noble man and lady in my own personal Hell, but I will not, I will _not_ be a pawn to you!"

"You are not my pawn!" he yelled back. The girl was as stubborn as an ox, and hard of hearing when she was angry. "But you are my Little Bird and I promised to protect you," he gripped her wrists again, pulling her close. "And if that means becoming a knight to serve you best," he ground out the words. Both of them were on their knees, facing each other, Sansa's small arms held in his mighty grasp as she looked up at him, tears streaming down her smooth cheeks, her face inches from his own.

"So be it," he rasped, and his lips somehow found their way to hers, descending upon them so quickly she barely had time to take breath. It was not a graceful kiss or a gentle one like she dreamed kissing a knight would be, but in a way, it was better. Sansa's confused heart skipped beats and she could hear it drumming in her ears as Sandor's lips pressed against her own, not uncomfortably. Her eyes fluttered shut and she pressed her own lips back on his with as much force as she could muster, and Sandor noticed. He released her wrists and gripped her waist with both hands, pulling her closer. Sansa hands went to his face, gently cupping both sides. She felt her lips part and suddenly her chest seemed to explode with a mad heat.

All too quickly, it was over. Sandor reeled back away from her, releasing her and practically shoving her away. Sansa leaned back on her haunches, opening her eyes and gazing at him through the dark; though she could not see his face, she could hear him panting.

Without a word to her, he turned and lay on his cloak, rolling so his back faced her. Sansa lay back too, slowly, and gently touched her fingers to her lips, and even in the midst of tragedy and the continuing fight for her life, she felt a blush creep up her neck.

_AN: So, yes, they finally kissed. Let me tell you that writing a kissing scene between these two is HARD because of how difficult it is to keep them in character! GAH. But I made it through and I hope you all enjoyed it! I will be out of town until the 5__th__ so this was my "short temporary hiatus present" to you all. I love you SO MUCH and will see you in Chapter 11 :)_


	11. Chapter 11

Sansa knew they were getting closer and closer to the North, if not Winterfell, by the snow that began to fall from the grey sky. They had just come upon Moat Cailin, and Sansa could vaguely remember visiting the stronghold as a child. She stopped Marya to gaze upon the ruins, her cloak drawn tightly around her shoulders.

"Admiring the view?" Sandor asked her, riding up beside her. He too had drawn his heavy cloak over his armor. Sansa looked at him and shook her head.

"Reminiscing," she answered. "I came here once or twice as a child." Sandor said nothing in return, but instead kept a watchful eye around them. They hadn't heard from or seen the Lannister party, but no doubt they were on their trail. Sandor thanked the Gods for getting them this far north. A bit farther still and they would be in the company of Starks and their men. Then, they would be safe.

_And what would happen next? _Sandor asked himself as the red-headed girl spurred her horse onward. It had been days since he laid his lips upon hers; half of him wanted to do it again, everyday, but the other half warned him off; she was a lady, a highborn. He was a dog.

Still, the softer side of Sandor Clegane could not help but conjure up images of a small stronghold with Dog-coated banners, a sturdy and reliable keep of which he was master. He would come home after a day of hunting with a small garrison of men and leave his prize in the kitchens to be prepared for dinner. And at night, when he retreated to his bed, weary and worn, a small, smiling wife would wait for him with her rosy cheeks and warm heart, and would sing her little bird songs as she shushed him to sleep.

Sandor grunted, embarrassed at his sensitivity. He instead thought of the Northern whores and pubs. It had been a long time since he visited this country, and from what he remembered, the women had been solid without being fat and coy without being vague. He liked that in a whore. He smiled to himself, remembering a certain brunette from his last venture here with the Lannisters. Then he saw Sansa turn and give him a small smile, and suddenly he felt ashamed.

"Soon we'll be far enough North," the girl spoke. "Then my father's friends will help us return home."

"Let us hope so," Sandor replied, ever wary. Sansa nodded wordlessly.

"Where shall we find shelter tonight?"

"I'm assuming you don't want to be outside?" Sandor asked. Sansa raised an eyebrow; she may have become a harder woman, but there were always still traces of her former life; posh and comfortable, and it was clear that she still desired that level of hospitality.

"I suppose we could find a farm or an inn," Sandor relented, and Sansa smiled, satisfied with his answer. It was already beginning to darken as the two entered a small village just past Moat Cailin. They found a small inn and quickly rehearsed their usual story; Mr. Cal and Mrs. Jeyne Gardon, travelers to and from some place to the next; she was his little wife, so on and so forth. Sansa knew the lie by heart.

They arrived and were escorted to their rooms, their horses to the stable, and took their dinner upstairs. They always took their meals in their rooms after what happened the last time they ate in the tavern. Sansa finished her food and climbed into bed quickly. It was already late and she found that on recent nights she could sleep again, though thoughts of Robb and her mother haunted her dreams constantly. Tonight, she closed her eyes and listened as Sandor lay on the floor at the foot of the bed. He sighed, and she felt comforted, but as time passed, she could not fall asleep. She waited, desperate for sleep to take her. She hated nights like these.

"Can you sleep?" she asked finally, staring up at the wooden ceiling. Sandor grunted back in reply. Sansa didn't know what to say after that; she was mildly comforted by the fact that her companion couldn't sleep either.

"We'll be in Winterfell soon," she said aloud, and then remembered it had already been said earlier and felt stupid for repeating it.

"Aye," Sandor replied quietly. "And you will be a free little bird."

"Free," Sansa murmured. She wondered what Winterfell would be like when she reached it's stone walls once again. Rickon and Bran, how old would they be now? _Grown men after what they've been through_, she thought sadly, thinking of their losses. They would be happy to see her alive though. And what of Arya? Has her little sister made it home safely? Would she welcome her? Sansa felt her eyes well up, but she blinked the tears away.

"Are you crying again?" The Hound asked.

"No," Sansa replied stubbornly. Sandor didn't say anything but she thought she heard him chuckle. "What will you do when we get to Winterfell?" she asked him.

"Who knows. Drop you off, get my reward, go on."

"Where?"

"Dunno, where would you bid me go?" he sat up and she could see his face as he shifted to sit against the wall across from her. Sansa propped her head up on her hand and stared at him.

"You'll go wherever I tell you?" she asked. Sandor shrugged.

"Where else? I'm your knight, remember?" he reminded her with an ironic smile. Sansa did not return it.

"I thought that a jest," she responded quietly.

"Maybe it was."

Sansa didn't know how to respond to him. Sometimes she felt like he was mocking her, and then other times she felt like he was inviting her to a secret, sensitive side of himself. She could not decipher one from the other anymore.

"Don't mock me," she said quietly.

"I don't mock the little bird," he replied gently, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Sansa lay her head back again, looking up at the ceiling again. She was silent again, unsure of what to say. She was always trying to unravel what kind of man Sandor Clegane was. It was getting tiresome, never knowing the man she traveled with.

"Why did you kiss me?" she asked, in a voice so small and quiet that she wondered if he had heard her. If he hadn't, she would not repeat it. Sandor did not respond to her question for a long time, and Sansa was almost positive he didn't hear her. She sighed.

"Goodnight."

"Because I wanted to," he said. When Sansa heard him, she sat up and was surprised to see him looking into his lap.

"What did you say?" she asked, staring at him.

"I kissed you because I wanted to," he repeated. He looked up at her with guarded eyes, and Sansa sat up higher.

"Why?"

"Why does a man ever kiss a woman?" he asked back, his voice raspy and quiet. Sansa closed her mouth and held his gaze. Her stomach twisted and she couldn't tell if she was happy or scared by his answer. He looked back at her too, expressionless, making it all the more difficult to read him.

"I…thank you, then," she answered lamely. "I am flattered." Sandor laughed and leaned his head back against the wall.

"Save your courtesies, girl, this is not court," he reminded her, and Sansa bit her lip, trying to come up with a better response.

"I just meant…that…it…I just meant that it was…" she struggled to find the right word, avoiding his gaze.

"Nice," she said finally. "It was nice." The Hound leaned forward again, looking at her with slightly raised eyebrows. Sansa felt herself blush and she looked away from him.

"Yes it was," he agreed quietly. An awkward silence fell between the two. Sansa still refused to meet Sandor's eyes, but he refused to look away. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. It was no use.

"Would you do it again?" she asked him slowly, almost afraid of his answer. Her brain rattled with rationality, reminding her that he was a killer, an angry and mean man. He hated almost everyone. He was loyal to no one but himself.

_And me,_ her heart reminded her. If anything, he was loyal to her. He had saved her so many times from Joffrey and the cruel men she encountered both in King's Landing and on the road. He was kind to her, gentle almost, and it was clear he was no longer just toting her along for money once she was safely back in Winterfell. How could he not feel something for her after all that?

"Are you asking me to?" he said to her from his place at the foot of her bed. She sat up, all the way this time, so she could see him. He had stripped himself of his armor and common shirt, and by the glow of the small fire they had left lit, she could see dark hair sprayed across his muscular chest. Again, the girl blushed.

"No…I mean…I'm, I'm only curious," she replied back, stuttering over her words like a fool. Mentally, she slapped herself. The Hound watched her with those dark iron eyes, waiting. Sansa looked away again, embarrassed. Why had she asked such a stupid question?

"Go to sleep, Little Bird," Sandor said wearily, as though the conversation was too tiresome to bother with anymore. He lay down and vanished from her eyesight, and Sansa became frustrated.

"I'm not a little bird," she snapped. "I'm a woman, I've grown. You know that, you've seen it." She huffed and dropped her head back on her pillow angrily. "You know it," she muttered again. There was silence, then shuffling, and suddenly he was leaning over her, staring into her eyes, his face hanging inches above her own.

"Aye, I know it," he whispered gruffly. "I may try to be valiant around you, but when my lady offers a kiss, I won't refuse."

"I did not offer any kiss, nor am I your lady."

"You are my lady. And no offer is necessary," he told her, leaning forward. "I don't think you'll mind me taking one." Again, he kissed her, and Sansa was almost relieved. His lips felt soft but firm against her own, and she dared raise a hand to his face, stroking his burnt cheek softly. He laid his hand on her belly and Sansa felt a fire blossom in her chest and she parted her lips. This time, he did not break away, but allowed her to deepen the kiss. He dipped his tongue into the cave of her mouth, and Sansa felt her heart skip a beat. She had never been kissed like this before, so deeply, but clearly Sandor knew what he was doing, so she simply followed his lead.

Finally, he parted from her, and Sansa let out a soft sigh.

"Goodnight, stubborn bird," he whispered, and retreated to the foot of the bed. Sansa lay back on her pillow, breathless and dizzy, and found that sleep welcomed her now with open arms.

XXX

Chaos waited for her in the morning. She awoke to the clambering of steel and screams from downstairs as she sat upright in bed and craned her neck.

"Sandor?" she asked, trying not to be too loud. She got on her knees and looked over the foot of the bed, but he was gone. Sansa swore out loud and hurriedly put on her traveling dress and cloak. She was grabbing her small purse when the door burst open. When she saw who walked in, her heart froze.

"Gotcha," Ser Meryn Trant said with a sick smile. She backed away into the corner, but it was no use. "No Hound to protect you now, eh?" Ser Meryn taunted, sauntering towards her. "We've been looking for you, girl," he spat out the side of his mouth and Sansa felt her stomach threaten to upheave. Where was the Hound?

"Come along," another member of the Kingsguard entered and grabbed Sansa by the waist roughly, hauling her out the door. She shrieked and grabbed at the doorframe, catching it and then feeling it slip away from her fingertips.

She was carried out past the entrance to the inn and into the night. It was freezing, and Sansa shivered as she was bound by the hands by Ser Meryn. He stepped aside, sneering, and she saw them; the Lannisters sat tall on their horses. Cersei was in the back beside Tommen and Myrcella, staring at her with reproachful eyes while the children looked on, worried. In front of them sat Joffrey with a twisted smile. Sansa felt herself tremble and she looked away.

"Well, well, Lady Stark," Joffrey drawled. "I'm quite pleased to see you again!" He looked at Ser Meryn, who laughed as though commanded. "And here you thought you had escaped me, pity. I must admit I was surprised you made it this long with my dog," he said, hopping down and strutting over to her with his hands behind his back. "Dogs are supposed to be loyal," he commented casually, gesturing to a cart a few yards off. Sansa looked and saw the Hound laying facedown on the back. She watched, desperate to see if he was alive. Slwoly, his back rose, then fell again, and she sighed, relieved. He was breathing.

"Scared, girl?" Joffrey asked, leaning in close to her face. "You should be." With surprising force, he struck her in the face with his ringed-hands that left her cheek open and bloody, but Sansa managed not to cry out. She raised her head, baring the pain, and looked Joffrey in the eye. She could see he was disappointed by her lack of reaction, his mouth twisting into a snarl.

"Well, we'll have more fun later," he said, waving a hand. Sansa let out a low breath as Joffrey moved away from her and climbed back onto his horse. He waved a hand and Ser Meryn grabbed Sansa and carried her to the cart before tossing her upon the Hound's unmoving body. She shifted around so she was sitting beside him and lay her bound hands on his head, stroking his matted hair. With a jolt, the cart began moving to some unknown place, an unknown Hell with a master that Sansa knew far too well; Joffrey could do with her as he pleased now.


	12. Chapter 12

Sansa shivered in the darkness and felt a spasm of pain down her body. She couldn't see out of her left eye, one of her wrists ached and bent at an unusual angle, and her body was smeared in blood and purpled in bruises. She was breathing heavily, and it hurt her lungs, but she would not stop. No tears fell. She was beyond crying at this point.

"Sandor," she whimpered quietly, wishing he would wake up. Thick black bars separated the stone cell she was held in, and she could dimly see the outline of her massive companion on the other side of the cell, past the bars, slumped against the wall. Sansa huffed and leaned her head back, closing her eyes and pleading with every God there was to find her out of this.

The door opened with a loud creak and Sansa would have moved away if it weren't for her injuries. Ser Meryn strode in haughtily with Joffrey on his heels, and Sansa's body clenched with fear.

"Hello, my pretty," Joffrey drawled, walking towards her and looking around the cell. "Dismal place, pity you have to spend your last night in here." Sansa looked up in alarm.

"Oh, did you not know? Yes, tonight is your last night! I'm to have you executed on the morrow," Joffrey told her, clapping his hands. He looked at Meryn. "Won't it be fun? We should make it a holiday of sorts. Two executions for two traitors to the crown."

"Yes, Your Grace, it will be a grand occasion," Ser Meryn replied, bowing his head.

"And then," Joffrey hissed, kneeling in front of Sansa, taking care not to touch the ground. "We will show the realm that I am a king to be feared."

"You are a king to be despised," Sansa spat back before she could halt the words. Joffrey's sick smile twisted into a frown before her, and he snarled before whipping out his hand and striking her face. Sansa's head reeled sideways and she closed her eyes, refusing to cry or make noise. Instead, she turned her head and spat out the blood in her mouth and looked the small king in the eye.

"We will see how long you last before my men break you," Joffrey whispered, close to her face. Sansa could smell wine on his breath and she sneered back at him. "I've told them any one of them can fuck you tonight, like the common whore you are," Joffrey said maliciously, standing back up. Sansa glared at him as he cast a glance to the Hound. "After all," he said, walking a little towards the bars to examine the unconscious man. "You've laid with a beast now. You're worse than a common whore." He turned and gave Sansa a rueful smile as she glared at him. He waved a hand to Meryn, and walked out. Meryn looked at her and licked his lips.

"Maybe I'll come back to you later, Dog Lover," he whispered, his eyes dancing. Sansa leaned away, back against the wall, willing herself not to vomit. He gave her a sickening wink before shutting the door with a slam. Sansa let out a breath when he had gone. The noise of the door seemed to have roused Sandor, who grunted. Sansa gasped and crawled quickly to the bars, ignoring her aching limbs' protests as she grasped the iron with raw hands.

"Sandor?" she pled, begging for him to wake up. "Sandor, wake up!"

"Mmm…" he groaned, his head lifting slowly. "Little Bird," he rasped, barely audible. Sansa could have cried to see him alive, awake.

"Thank the Gods you're awake," she cried quietly, leaning her forward on the cold bar. Sandor lifted a hand to his head and groaned again before focusing on her face. "Little Bird," he said again.

"I'm here," Sansa replied, clutching the bars. Sandor slowly made his way over to her, taking his time. Sansa could see that he was in bad shape. His face bled from various cuts and he held his arm up gingerly with the other, but still he crawled to her. When he reached the bars, she placed her hand on his.

"What happened to you?" she asked, distraught at his beaten state. Sandor grunted and shook his head.

"I don't know, I can't remember," he replied, looking down. When he looked at her again, his eyes widened. "You're hurt," he observed, horrified. Sansa shook her head too.

"I'm alright, I'm alive and you're alive," she told him. Still, Sandor looked dangerously angry.

"I'll kill him. I'll kill all of them," he vowed. Sansa sighed, unsure of what to say to him. "They will never touch you again," he said again, more fiercely. Sansa looked at him and leaned her forehead against the bars. He did so too, and was close enough that she could feel his breath on the bridge of her nose.

"I know," she responded, very quiet. Sandor's eyes mirrored his internal rage as he looked at her, beaten and bloody. His heart shattered.

"They are going to kill us tomorrow," she told him. "Joffrey's men are free to take me tonight, he said so, they could come at any moment." Her eyes looked so panicked. "I don't know what to do."

"No one will touch you," he said again. He reached a hand into a hidden pocket on his breast. Carefully, he slid out a small dagger, no longer than his middle finger. He handed it to her between the bars. "Careful," he warned her. "Small, but sharp."

Sansa gripped the dagger and suddenly felt very small.

"Use it if they come," Sandor told her. "Keep it hidden. Let them think you won't put up a fight. Their lust will overtake their caution and you can strike the."

"What if I miss?" she asked, clutching it to her chest.

"You won't, Little Bird." He assured her. Sansa nodded and finally felt tears sting her eyes. Sansa bowed her head, leaning on the bars.

"I'm scared," she whispered quietly, closing her eyes. Sandor slid his fingers through the bars and lifted her chin. He kneeled down to be closer to her face and looked her in her watery blue eyes.

"Everything will be alright, Little Bird," he said calmly, and Sansa welcomed this assurance over his normal sarcastic banter. In the past, she would never have admitted to him that she was afraid of anything for fear of mockery. But now…things had changed. They had been through so many dangers on their journey. She had experienced her feelings for him, and his for her, and while parts of his character still eluded her, she knew he was no threat. He was a companion. A friend…or perhaps more.

"I don't want to die," she whimpered, and Sandor shushed her.

"You won't," he promised, and kissed her forehead. Sansa leaned into the touch of his lips, wishing to stay there as long as possible. They heard the soft echo of footsteps not long after from down the hall, and Sansa's stomach turned.

"They're coming," she whispered, frightened.

"Back up, we shouldn't be talking," Sandor replied. Before Sansa could move, he gripped her hand on the bar and kissed her lips swiftly, giving her a reassuring nod. "Don't forget the dagger." Sansa nodded and hastily retreated to the other wall of her cell before the door opened. Sandor too slid back to his side and pretended to be unconscious still.

"You were right, Meryn," said a man she did not recognize, who entered before Ser Meryn. Sansa felt the sharp edge of the dagger to remind herself it was there, and told herself to be calm.

"Aye, she's ripe for the taking, no mistake," Meryn replied. _The Others take me,_ Sansa thought to herself. _There's two of them. I cannot defeat two of them. _Ser Meryn advanced towards her and Sansa recoiled, desperate for some reprieve. "I'm gonna fuck you, girl," he murmured to her. "I'm gonna shove my cock up you until you can't even scream no more." The other man laughed, and Sansa's heart began to race. She felt the tip of the dagger and wondered if she had the strength to thrust it in her own heart. She would be free, she could see her parents again…but one look at the Hound and she knew that wasn't an option.

Ser Meryn undid his cloak and let it fall to the floor in a heap. Sansa moved away from it as though it might burn her, hiding the dagger still but keeping her eyes on Meryn and his companion. He began unclasping his armor, his sick eyes never leaving her face. As he stripped down, his companion began to drink from an unseen flask and hum some melody. Meryn's chest was bare now, and all he had left were his breeches. Sansa waited, biding her time. If she could only kill one of them, she'd be pleased it would be Meryn Trant.

He bent towards her and forced her to lie down, and Sansa willingly obliged, eager to end this. Meryn began unlacing the ties on his pants and Sansa tried to calm her breathing. From where Meryn leaned over her, she could no longer see the Hound.

"That's a girl," Meryn praised her obedience as he began unlacing her bodice and baring her belly, then her chest. Sansa felt like vomiting as he leaned down and smelled her naked skin, breathing deep. The other man carelessly hummed along and drank, meanwhile.

Sansa readied her dagger as Meryn finished unlacing his pants and kept one hand on her torso, clawing at her skin. She waited for the right moment. Meryn's companion had started doing a little jig in the corner, spilling wine from his flask while he sang. Meryn laid himself down upon her completely, shoving aside her skirts with his knees as he roughly kissed her face. Still, she waited.

Just as Meryn's cock was ready to plunge, she made her move. With her right hand, she lifted her arms as though to embrace him, but a moment later, drove the dagger as deeply into his bare back as she could. Meryn gasped, his eyes wide with pain. Sansa yanked the dagger back out and plunged it in another spot, and another, repeatedly stabbing him as hard and as fast as she could.

"Trant, you better save some for me," his companion slurred, turning. "What the—" he yelled, realizing what Sansa was doing. "Fucking wench!"

Sansa shoved the dead man off her and scrambled to her feet, running at the man and shoving him with both hands into the bars and backing away. He took off his helmet and growled at her.

"I'm gonna gut you like a fish, Dog-Lovin' whore!" he yelled at her, brandishing his sword. He looked as though he would come at her, but then his face changed, his eyes grew confused and his mouth opened in a small 'O' of surprise as he glanced down. Sansa looked to, and they found the smallest hint of silver as the tip of a small sword pierced through the man's belly. With the confusion still mounted on his unmoving face, the man slowly fell forward as the blade was withdrawn, and landed face-first onto the stone floor, now littered with blood. Behind him, the Hound sheathed the blade at his side.

"Thank the Gods," Sansa cried out, going to the bars. "Thank you."

"Hurry, Little Bird. One of them will have keys. Let me out." Sansa searched the second man first, emptying his pockets and belt until she found nothing. She moved onto Meryn, where she found a large set of iron keys. Scrambling, she opened her door from the inside and unlocked the Hound's.

"Stay here," he said to her harshly, taking her by the shoulders. "I'm going to get the horses and kill the rest of them, but I need you to stay here. I'm going to lock you back in," he said, and Sansa opened her mouth to protest but Sandor silenced her. "It'll look like I escaped, not you. No one but these two and Joffrey knew which cell you were in. Come on, girl, hurry up," he ushered her into his cell and shut the door, locking it before handing her the key through the bars. "Do not leave," he commanded her. "Promise me."

"I promise," Sansa choked out. Without letting her wish him luck or safe fighting, Sandor bent and picked up Meryn's cast aside sword and ran from the dungeons, where she sat waiting in a cell, alone.

Sansa did not know how long she waited, but eventually, she could hear sot, fast footsteps echoing as they pattered down towards her cell. Instinctively she backed up against the wall, expecting another member of the Kingsguard, but it was Cersei who appeared, running down the hall. Her eyes locked on Sansa and she stopped short, panting.

"You," she snarled. "You ungrateful bitch."

"Where is Tommen? And Myrcella?" Sansa asked, worried for the young prince and princess. Cersei looked like she was going to explode.

"My children's safety is no concern of yours!" She screamed at Sansa, who shrunk back. "All I've ever done has been to keep my family safe," the former queen spat, moving towards the door and grasping the bars as she glared at Sansa. "And you have taken it all from me. My home, my family," Cersei began to cry and Sansa looked away awkwardly. The older woman sobbed and shook the bars agrily, desperate to hurt Sansa. "I hate you!" she screamed again. Sansa refused to look at her.

"I hope you burn," Cersei said when she had conquered her emotions. "I hope you birth many happy children and that you watch them all die before your eyes."

Sansa looked at Cersei then, no longer afraid of the queen.

"My children will not die," she answered her levelly.

"What makes you so sure?" Cersei hissed back. Sansa stared at her eyes, anger ebbing from her every nerve at the woman who had held her captive, forced her to almost marry her son, and killed so many innocent people.

"Because," Sansa responded, getting to her feet. "My children won't be monsterous like your precious Joffrey." Cerei screamed at her again, shaking the bars harder than ever, but Sansa found she was unafraid. "If your son is dead, you know as well as I do that he deserved it."

"You will die! You will die before this night if over! You and that bloody Dog! I swear it!" Cersei shrieked. Sansa shut her mouth tightly and refused to give the queen any more of her time. "You'll see," Cersei warned as Sansa sat back down on the ground, paying her no mind. "I'll make you pay."

"How?" Sansa asked, thinking of Myrcella and Tommen. "How will you hunt me while you have your two other children? How will you part with them to look for me?"

"Do NOT lecture me on motherhood, Stark whore!" Cersei yelled, banging the door. Sansa raised an eyebrow, seeing defeat in Cersei's eyes and knowing she was right; the queen would not abandon her other children.

"Leave, Cersei," she told the distraught woman. "Run away with Myrcella and Tommen. Run away, and you will not be hunted. Run away, and they will be safe." Sansa looked as Cersei turned away and cried quietly, her back to the girl in the cell. Then, without another glance, the blonde woman walked brusquely out of the dungeons.

Sansa resumed her waiting for what seemed like eons. She began to panic and took out the keys she had hidden, wondering if now was the time to release herself and flee. _No, _she thought._ Sandor is coming. He told me to wait._

"Little Bird!" His voice appeared out of nowhere, and Sansa stood and ran to the door to look out between the bars. Sandor appeared not long after, bloody and tired. "Come out, Little Bird, it is safe," he told her, a smile in his voice but not yet on his face. Sansa hurriedly undid the lock on her door and followed the Hound upstairs, passing a few littered bodies of the Kingsguard.

She was led out to the courtyard of the small stronghold where she was captive and looked to where the Hound motioned, and almost fainted.

Joffrey Baratheon's head was mounted on a spear, the familiar, whining snarl still painted on his face. Sansa's heart almost exploded with relief; he was gone, he would never touch her again, he would never beat her again, he was gone. She walked towards it, and then backed away, repulsed and relieved at the same time. She threw her head back and looked at the sky and openly began to cry, tears spilling down her cheeks at the sudden, sweet release of everything she had come to fear.

"Sansa?"

Her head snapped back at the sound of a small, familiar voice, she whirled around one way, then the next, seeking it's owner. It couldn't be…

"Sansa!" She turned again and saw them, looking dwarfed as they sat on two large horses, but bigger than she remembered. Two dark haired boys staring at her with teary eyes. Sansa stood and stumbled to them.

"Bran…Rickon…" she cried out. Rickon nearly fell off his horse into her arms and wrapped his little hands around her neck. Bran was helped from his saddle by a wild-looking woman, who carried him to Sansa's awating embrace. She crushed the two of them to her chest, weeping and laughing, nearly going mad from the mess of emotions in her heart. Her brothers, alive and in her arms, safe and sound and unhurt. Joffrey dead and unable to hurt her. Cersei gone with her children, never to be heard from again. She was safe. She had made it.

_A/N: Only a couple more chapters to go! I love you all :)_


	13. Chapter 13

Her home was gone. Burned to the ground, without a trace of the happy life that she once knew. She had burst into tears when her little brothers broke the news, falling to her knees. It was like some cruel joke the world was playing on her.

Still, she was beyond overjoyed to see Bran and Rickon alive and well. They had been traveling across the country of the North with Maester Luwin and various members of their household, as well as Shaggy and Summer. Bran told her they had seen the Lannister banner hoisted at the small stronghold and investigated. Their men easily outnumbered the Lannister party, and when the Hound was released, he had added the strength of ten men. Bran had told her this with fierceness in his eyes, and it made Sansa sad to see her brothers so grown up when they should still be innocent children.

"We were going to head South and hope to find Arya, then come rescue you," he said to her wistfully. Sansa had smiled at his sweet face and stroked his head as he lay in one of the stronghold beds.

"What is this place?" she asked him, ignoring his previous plan and trying to pretend she was still talking to a young boy. "I don't remember it."

"An old watch-house of sorts," Bran replied. "We used to have scouts here to ride back home if invaders were coming. We're closer to Winterfell now, only a day's ride." Sansa nodded, absentmindedly petting her brother. "Will you come with us?" he asked her quietly.

"Where?" she replied.

"South, to find Arya." Sansa sighed. She was so tired, so unbelievably tired of travelling. Looking into her brother's eyes, she found the one thing she lacked: hope. Winterfell was gone, their family killed, and yet he still had a fire blazing behind his dark eyes, like he knew that somehow, things would be better again. She wished she could share his optimism.

"Bran, little brother, we should stay here. We are safe. Arya will come back to us in time," she said, cupping his cheek. Bran furrowed his brow and moved away from her.

"It's not just about Arya. We will go and rally our bannermen, remind them that there are still Starks in Winterfell!" he proclaimed bravely. Sansa felt her heart break.

"I cannot go any further," she said quietly to him, gently, but with sadness in her voice. She took his hands and looked into his eyes, begging for him to understand. "I have been traveling for months. I am beaten and sore, I cannot go on." Sansa spoke the truth. In her heart, she felt cold and weak. Her parents were dead and her home was burned to the ground, there was barely anything left for her to live for, save for her brothers…and the Hound. He had saved her life enough that dying now would be a shameful way to say thank you.

"But, what will you do?" he asked. "Why won't you come?" His eyes brimmed with tears. Sansa shushed him and wiped a tear away.

"Because I can't," she responded, beginning to cry as well. She tried to think of a way to comfort him, to speak of duty and honor and make him understand. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell," she said eagerly, feigning excitement at her newfound purpose. "Always."

"Sansa," Bran cried, tears pouring down his cheeks. "There is no Winterfell."

"Not yet," she soothed, giving him a smile. "Not yet, but we will rebuild! We rebuild the castle, brick by brick! We'll make it even bigger!" she said, trying to look excited. Bran's tears slowed, and Sansa continued

"I'll stay here in this stronghold and watch over. The Hound will stay with me and protect me, you go and send back some of our bannerman to help with construction." She wiped his cheeks. "Go and find Arya and rally our friends, and when you return, little brother, you will return to the grandest castle in the realm!" she promised, and even though it was small, she couldn't miss the spark in Bran's eyes.

"Alright," he relented, with lingering doubt in his eyes. Sansa smiled brighter at him and kissed his brow. "We'll leave in a week's time, I think," he told her, looking down, and Sansa nodded. One week to spend with the brother she had been parted from for what seemed like a lifetime. It felt like nothing.

After she left Bran's room, she walked out onto the small stone terrace and looked out over the field. It was grey with a soft coating of snow, but Rickon was out playing with Shaggy with his coat on, so Sansa did not worry about him keeping warm. She looked farther off and saw a tall, rugged man with his back to the stronghold, cleaning his sword. She might go to him later, but not now. She had a feeling he wanted peace and quiet for the time being, as did she.

XXX

Her week with her brothers passed by too quickly. One day they were feasting and laughing by the fire, the next she was watching as Hodor saddled Rickon up onto his horse. The wildling woman, Osha was her name, strapped in Bran's feet and patted his leg, and he smiled down at her. Sansa nodded to her in thanks as she walked by, and the woman bowed to her.

"I'll take care of him, my lady," she said quietly, with her rough voice. Sansa smiled and felt the all too familiar feel of tears stinging her eyes. She tried to look as strong as the woman before her, but for all her battles, she was still so delicate.

"Thank you," she choked out, nodding to the woman. Osha nodded back and walked away before hopping up behind Rickon.

"Sansa!" Rickon cried to her, his little cheeks tear-stained. Sansa held his small foot in her hand and shushed him. "I don't want to leave you!"

"Hush, Rickon," she said gently, holding his foot. "I'll be right here waiting for you," she promised, smiling up at him. "You be brave. You be brave for me, and Robb…Mother and Father…they're all watching and they are so proud." Rickon leaned down and she kissed his head. "You're a brave man now, Rickon," she told him, and he smiled through his tears.

Behind her, Sandor stood rigid and uncomfortable, feeling awkward in the midst of such a sentimental moment. Bran looked to him and he bowed his head.

"Sandor Clegane," he said loudly. Sandor looked up at the small lord. "You will stay and protect my sister." Bran commanded. "You will keep her safe and you will guard Winterfell while I am away. If you do this without fail, you will be pardoned of your crimes."

"What?" Sansa whirled around to face her brother. "What crimes?" Bran looked at her with confused eyes, as though it were obvious.

"Sansa, he's killed some of our men…and we heard about the butcher's boy. He served Joffrey," he reminded her. "He was Lannister's man." Sansa walked to him and shook her head.

"No, Bran, no. He didn't have a choice, he didn't love Joffrey! He hated him!"

"Sansa," Sandor put his hand on her shoulder to stop her. She looked at him and he shook his head. "It is fair. My Lord," he addressed Bran, bowing his head. "I promise I will protect your stronghold, your home, and your sister." Bran nodded grimly and beckoned Sansa closer to him, away from the Hound.

"Sansa," he asked her quietly, leaning down and almost whispering. "I worry for you," he said, and Sansa saw his eyes travel to the Hound, who did not notice.

"Bran, he's been protecting me ever since we escaped King's Landing," she explained to him. "He's saved me countless times, and we've become…close. Well, closer. Believe me, Bran, he will not hurt me, nor will he hurt any more of our men." She took his hand. "He's on our side." Bran leaned away and looked at her skeptically, but nodded all the same.

"Very well." He said to her. "Jon wrote and said he would visit and help as much as he could. Look for him in about a month."

Sansa finally let the tears fall as Bran and Rickon, along with few of their party, retreated South, riding away from her. She sniffed and gave them a final wave when Rickon turned in his saddle to raise his hand in farewell. They looked so strange to her now, like old men trapped in young boys' bodies.

Maester Luwin, who stayed behind, gave her a sad smile and turned to go inside with the rest of the party. Sansa found her feet stuck to the ground, unable to leave the spot she stood. She wanted to call her brothers back, make them stay here where they were safe. Sansa began to openly weep then, holding a hand to cover her face and wrapping her other arm around herself.

Sandor came up behind her, placing his hand on her shoulder again.

"Come on," he said to her quietly, gently pushing her forward. "I'll walk with you." Sansa nodded and allowed him to guide her around the stronghold. She shivered, but not from the cold. She felt lost and alone without her family. Why did she let the boys leave?

"Are you alright?" Sandor asked her in his gruff voice. Sansa nodded and wiped away her tears with her coat sleeve.

"I…we've come so far…and my entire home is just…it's gone! And now my brothers are gone, my parents are gone…it's just unfair," she cried, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't even know where Arya is."

Sandor didn't say anything, unsure of how to comfort her. Sansa sniffed again. "You'll be leaving soon, too," she said, sarcastically raising her arms as if to say thank you.

"I won't," he told her. "I promised your brother."

"Yes, yes, a noble promise to the Little Lord of Winterfell, what a knightly thing to do," she said, shrugging him off. "You may be my knight, Clegane, but you spit on duty and you disregard honor. You will leave when he returns."

"No, Sansa, I won't," he responded, not unkindly. "I have nowhere else I can go." Sansa turned to him with tear-stained cheeks.

"And would you?" she asked him. "If you had the choice, would you?"

Sandor looked at her for a long time, watching those ice blue eyes search his face. The Little Bird…his Little Bird. The image he thought of came rushing back to him; his stronghold, dog banners, his little wife waiting for him. Looking at Sansa, part of him ached for that future, while another felt repulsed. She could never be his. They had shared a few kisses, but he had kissed plenty of whores, and in plenty of places, and they hadn't meant a thing. Looking at Sansa, he tried telling himself that she was just another pair of lips and hips, but he found it hard to convince himself of that. So, finally, he gave her an answer.

"No." He shifted his weight and uncrossed his arms. "No, I would not."

Wordlessly, Sansa walked to him and buried her head into his chest, wrapping her small arms around his broad waist. Sandor froze, unsure of what to do with his arms. He had kissed the girl but he had never comforted her. Not like this, anyway. Slowly, he wrapped his arms and his cloak around her, enveloping her in his arms and holding her tight. This time, the internal battle between holding her close and pushing her away was won almost instantly. Sandor's hardened heart warmed inside his chest as he tucked the girl's head under his chin and shushed her gently. Finally, he felt complete, no longer a broken man missing a very large piece of himself; he had found that piece, and he held it in his arms tighter than he had held anything.

_A/N: Hi guys! WOW! Thank you all so much for all of your support! I am so amazed at what a positive response I've gotten for this story, and I really appreciate all of your reviews and PMs telling me how much you enjoy reading! It's coming to an end, but keep your eye out for the epilogue which is coming up soon :) I love you all!_


	14. EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

It was not easy at first. They were two very different people, after all, and both were extremely damaged in their own ways. Sansa knew in her heart that she had come to love the Hound, Sandor Clegane, most fiercely, but she still found she cowered at times in his presence.

Sandor too, faced challenges. He was a gruff and brutal man with a severe lack of empathy and mercy, and he would grow tired of treating her like a delicate flower all the time. In truth, her skin had grown much tougher over the years after their journey North, but to him, she was still his Little Bird. Therefore, he sometimes became easily irritable at how carefully he tread around her. He lashed out on several occasions, even struck her once. He had lost control for a moment and he didn't even see his hand fly through the air until a moment later when she had crumpled to the ground. Then, he had dissolved into a mess of apologies and frantic assurances that she was okay, falling beside her and cradling her small frame in his lap, rocking her and promising never to hurt her again.

And though she knew he had not meant to strike her, it was outbursts like that that kept her on her toes with her new husband. Some years had passed since Bran left, and the reconstruction of Winterfell moved faster than she could have anticipated. Men flocked to the North with successful words from her brothers in tow, swearing their fealty to their Lady Stark and promising to assist with rebuilding the castle. It was Sandor's idea for them to adopt the stronghold. He had even allowed himself to become an official knight of Winterfell, dubbed by Maester Luwin with Bran's approval, and thus he became the master of the newly named Clegane Stronghold, with it's new banner; a dog and a wolf running side by side. All he had needed was his lady wife, and when he had awkwardly thrust the ring at Sansa and basically demanded that she marry him with an odd blush in his cheeks, Sansa found herself laughing and crying all at once before saying yes.

That had been some years ago, and still, the two of them still struggled to find the easy rhythm of matrimony in their home. They argued often, both of them as stubborn as the other. Sansa once threw dishes at his head in the heat of a fight, and he had left their home for several days with no word. Eventually, he came home, weary and dirty, but he had gone straight to her and laid his head in her lap while she stroked his hair.

He had learned to be gentle as a lover, too. He had to. Though she had become a harder woman after her many trials, physically, she was much smaller and far more breakable than he could have imagined. Their wedding night almost didn't happen because he found it too daunting a task to make love to her without snapping her limbs. Still, they figured it out in time, and now when her husband claimed her body with his own in the heat of passion during the night, Sansa felt whole and happy and loved. Sandor would look into the eyes of his little fiery wife with a concerned face, and every time, she assured him that he was doing everything right and that she was okay. She'd kiss him then, and he would continue. After, as she lay nestled naked against his side, snoring softly, he'd smile and think about the Northern whores he once tried to compare her to, and realized there was no sweeter loving than this.

On the night that Sansa had received word that her brothers had found her sister, Arya, he held her through the night while she cried tears of joy. Sansa's little sister returned to them not long after that, and the two girls collapsed in a tight embrace, crying and laughing and talking so much that neither of them could really understand the other. Now, Arya lived in the finished parts of the new Winterfell, overseeing construction and carrying out official business while Bran and Rickon remained on the road.

On this particular night, Sansa had just returned from visiting her sister, and found the fires dim and the stronghold fast asleep. Silently, she walked to her room, removing her riding gloves and releasing her hair from a tight braid. Her husband lay under their furs, asleep, as she sat down beside him and lay a hand on his burnt face.

The scar didn't bother her anymore. In fact, she found herself stroking his deformed side more than his handsome side, favoring it not out of pity, but out of understanding and acceptance. Tonight was no exception, as she ran her fingers softly over the waxy skin.

"Mmm…" he grumbled, awakening at her touch. Sansa smiled wearily down at him.

"My love," she murmured, leaning against his chest. Sandor wrapped an arm lazily around her waist and opened his eyes lightly.

"I left a candle burning so you could see," he said sleepily, taking her hand and holding it to his lips. Every word he spoke was a light kiss on her fingers. "Why were you gone so long?" Sansa looked down in her lap and traced her other hand up and down his arm that rest there.

"I met with Maester Luwin. I have not felt well," she confessed, and Sandor's eyes opened wider, his mouth falling into a grim line. Sansa smiled wider and pulled her hand away, placing it back on his face.

"Don't fret," she reprimanded him jokingly. "All is well, I'm fine." Sandor seemed to relax, but some lingering doubt hovered in his eyes.

"What is it?" he asked, quiet but gruff. Sansa sniffed as tears stung her eyes.

"Sandor," she choked out as her husband sat upright, concern radiating from him as he moved to hold her. She lay her hands on his chest to stay him, wanting to look him in the eyes and see his reaction.

"I'm pregnant."

The look on her husband's face was like watching a baby see the sun for the very first time. The roughness did not leave his expression, but something in his eyes lit up, and color flooded to his cheeks.

"What?" he asked, louder than he intended, and Sansa laughed as tears slipped down her cheeks.

"You're going to be a father," she told him quietly, taking his face between her two hands and looking at him intently. "Are you not pleased?"

Sandor had no words. A thousand questions ran through his mind as he pictured his small cub suckling at his small wife's breast, and a raging urge to protect them unfurled inside of him in a primitive way. Immediately, he thought of the day he had struck her, and his heart turned dreadful.

No. Somewhere inside his mind, Sansa's voice spoke to him, words she had said before. You are not a monster. You are not a murderer. Your past does not define you, and you may now choose the man you want to be, the man I have seen and have come to love. And he understood now, all their past interactions; the time she stopped him in the halls of King's Landing to thank him for saving her life; the time she looked deep into his eyes as he offered to take her North and told him that he would not hurt her. All the times she had denied him being a hateful and monstrous brute of a man was because she knew, some part of her knew that hate and rage were not all he was capable of feeling, but love and protection and caring as well.

And as he looked upon his crying wife, suddenly it seemed as though the whole world he had grown up in, hated, despised even, somehow made sense, that this was where all of his misfortunes and mistakes were leading him. To his redemption. To his second chance.

"I am…" he choked out, staggering over his words. He searched his mind for the right word to describe his emotions; overjoyed, excited, none of them did this feeling justice. Instead, he looked in her eyes, so eager for his answer, and his face lit up in the most animated smile she had ever seen. Sansa laughed and laughed as he rolled onto her, holding her in a tight embrace as he sprinkled kisses across her face and neck.

No, it was not easy at first. They were two very different people, after all, both of them damaged in their own ways, but now, they had found the cure to every kind of scar, whether it lay on their skin or on their soul; eachother.

THE END

_A/N: That's all folks! Seriously I cannot thank you all enough for sticking with this story. For those of you who don't know, I've been on a very long hiatus from writing, and it was really nerve wrecking to get back in the game with such a DIFFICULT couple to write! Seriously, trying to keep these two in character was harder than I thought it would be! But, I could not have made my return to writing to a more gracious and welcoming audience, and for that, I owe you all thousands and thousands of hugs and cookies. It's good to be back, and I think I'll stay awhile :) Definitely keep your eyes out for more stuff from me._

_Again, my many many many thanks 3_


End file.
